


stitched up

by piphes



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/F, First Dates, Fluff and Humor, Give Elsa A Girlfriend (Disney), Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Lesbian Elsa (Disney), Semi-Slow Burn, one shots ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piphes/pseuds/piphes
Summary: She’s never seen anyone so beautiful that people might actually stop what they’re doing and stare.Maybe that’s why Elsa is in the hospital so damn often.
Relationships: Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 790





	1. coincidence

**Author's Note:**

> i don't really have a lot of medical experience, so please tell me if i've underresearched and made some egregious mistakes
> 
> hope you enjoy! tell me if you did, and tell me if you didn't :)

She can’t stand the smell.

Aunt Yelena calls it _antiseptic_ , and she doesn’t know what that is but surely _septic_ can’t be so bad that they have to spray bottles of repellant all over the place. The scent puts her on edge, but that could also just be the sound of her auntie crying. No, scratch that, it’s definitely the crying that’s getting to her. Aunt Yelena never cries, and now she’s on the other side of the door and it’s not that Maren _wants_ to see her uncle in this state, but she thinks that her aunt shouldn’t have to witness it all alone.

She watches as people hurry past, some in white coats and gloves, some looking like they just got out of bed. It is late, almost closer to the start of school than it is to bedtime, and she’s fallen asleep once in already, but the sound of the main door bursting open startles her fully awake.

The newcomers are all still in their pajamas, and look at first like they might be modeling them for a magazine. One girl is blonde, about her age and holding her mother’s hand, and the father is holding another in his arms. It takes Maren’s tired brain a second to register the panic on all of their faces, and another few to notice the dark crimson stain in the lighter red of the younger girl’s hair. 

The father is led into the room next to her aunt’s, the mom and other girl lagging a few paces behind. But when the blonde girl tries to enter, her mother shakes her head and pushes her in the direction of Maren’s bench. 

“Mommy, please!” the girl begs.

From inside, the man’s voice booms, “No, Elsa, go wait outside. You’ve done enough.” Maren winces in sympathy as the door closes on the girl’s shocked face. There’s silence for a moment, and then the girl-Elsa-walks rigidly over to the bench, sits down on the farthest end of it, and bursts into silent tears. _She’s so pale_ , Maren thinks, looking at her ivory skin and platinum blonde hair. She wonders if maybe Elsa is a ghost, and haunts her sister. But the sniffles coming from the opposite side of the bench sound so very sad, and Maren thinks of all the movies she’s seen where ghosts aren’t mean after all, and so she scoots toward Elsa and fishes out a worn Kit-Kat from her pocket.

The blonde girl has her face buried in her hands, so it takes her a while to see Maren’s outstretched offering. When she finally notices, she startles so much that she almost falls off the bench, and eyes Maren with outright distrust. Now that Elsa is facing her, Maren takes in her delicate nose and sky-blue eyes; even though she’s red and teary and wearing snowman pajamas, Maren can’t but think that she looks like a storybook princess.

“I’m Maren,” Maren says. “Take it, I’ve got loads more, I’ve been working away at my Halloween stash,” she pats her pocket, which crackles in confirmation. For a moment, it seems like Elsa is going to sneer and turn away, but instead she takes the candy very carefully from her hand, as if Maren is a bomb about to explode. She stares at it for a moment, turning it over in her hands, and all of a sudden sobs and thrusts it back at Maren.

“Do you not like Kit-Kats?” Maren asks. “I think I’ve got a Milky Way in here somewhere-”

“No,” Elsa interrupts shakily. “Thank you, Maren, but I don’t think I deserve candy right now,” and with every word her voice gets smaller and smaller.

Maren frowns at that. “What did you do that was so bad?”

“I–we were playing in the snow, and Anna went down the slide expecting me to catch her, b-but I didn’t, and she would’ve been okay except I left my ice skates out there even though I wasn’t supposed to and-” She’s crying again, and can’t make herself finish, but Maren can imagine the end well enough. She and Ryder often fight, but she still winces when she thinks about the one time she’d hit him in the eye with a tennis ball. If he had been as badly hurt as Anna… 

“It was an accident though, wasn’t it?” Maren says, searching for something to make Elsa feel better. “You guys sound like you’re really close. I bet Anna would say you’re a great sister. And,” she adds, inspired, “I bet you told your parents right away. When I hurt my brother once I didn’t say anything to my aunt, even though he could hardly see through one eye for a bit. So you didn’t mean to, and you did your best, and you feel really bad about it, so I think you do deserve candy!” 

Elsa’s smile was fragile, but it reached her eyes. She held out her hand, and after Maren had given her the Kit-Kat and she’d thanked her and eaten it without getting a crumb on her blue pajamas, Maren reached toward her again.

It was a lot easier to wait if you were holding someone’s hand.

* * *

She wasn't a huge fan of the smell.

She’s here for the week before New Year’s, because if she wants to be a doctor—and she might—then she'd better start shadowing. So she makes a few calls, fills out some paperwork, and shows up to the local university hospital at 7AM sharp. She hasn't set foot in the building since she was nine and her uncle died, and the white-haired doctor who meets her at the front doesn't help her feel much older.

“You must be Maren,” he says, looking her up and down from around his huge, bulbous nose (mostly up, because he's _tiny_ ). “I’m Dr. Pablo Trull, but everyone calls me Pabbie. Lovely to meet you. And I must say, it's great to see young students like you showing initiative. Sometimes a future doctor doesn't see the inside of a hospital until their rotations, and boy I'll tell you those guys can be real fixer-uppers. Oh, right this way...”

Despite the conclusions one might draw from his mindless chatter, Pabbie is incredibly collected and put together when he works. Maren watches from the sidelines as he sets broken bones and stitches up lacerations with unshakeable calm. There is something to be said about the ER, Maren thinks, even if it is just peculiar to Northuldra Hospital in particular. The tribe of surgeons and nurses and PA’s and anesthesiologists flit around seamlessly, a solid center amidst a flurry of urgency and emergency. 

But even Pabbie’s eyes widen when paramedics rush in with two stretchers from a car crash. From the corner where she stands, Maren can hardly make out any features on the victims’ faces among the mess of cuts and burns. Her view is cut off by the team swarming around them, but from the injuries that are being listed off, even Maren can tell that resuscitation would be a lost cause.

Sure enough, the team halts their frenzy almost immediately, and takes down the time of death. “There wasn't much we could do,” Pabbie tells her a few minutes later, as she follows him down the hallway. “It’s rare to see a case like that here, away from the city. Their next of kin has just arrived, and while most shadowers don't see this, it's important not to overlook or trivialize this part of the job, so if you want to see how I handle it, then you can.” Maren gulps and nods, and he continues, “It’s an awful business. I’ve actually met the family a few times, and they were terribly nice, even their daughters were so polite.” 

They reach the waiting room, and Pabbie steps in first. Maren can hear him asking permission for her to enter and a brusque approval in response before the door opens for her. Three tense faces paid her almost no attention, listening as Pabbie begins to explain the circumstances. There’s a man with sideburns that take up most of his face, a redhead with a streak of white clutching his hand, and Maren feels a ghost of remembrance as she turns to the last person in the room. The woman’s skin is so pale as to be nearly translucent, her hair scarcely any darker, and her eyes are icy blue. _Beautiful_ , thinks Maren, despite the circumstances, and it was only when she hears a noise of despair that she remembers herself again. 

The redhead is crying freely, being quietly consoled by her boyfriend. But the blonde keeps her face expressionless, even she stands up and walked toward Maren. Their eyes met, and Maren thinks she sees a flare of recognition, but then she is past Maren and slipping out the door without a sound.

“Elsa, wait! What-” the girl begins, but she's already gone. _Elsa_ , Maren repeats, memories of her last visit to Northuldra surging into her mind. Pity is a sharp tang in her mouth, and when she looks out the window in the door, she can see Elsa’s shoulders shaking as she walks away.

* * *

Six years later, and she's pretty much used to the smell.

Yes, she's only been back at Northuldra for a few months, after finishing medical school at a university halfway across the country, but it seems like every hospital uses the same antiseptic solution. Now, back at the place where she did her undergraduate shadowing, it's jarring to suddenly have patients, to be able to walk into a room all by herself and be treated as a figure of authority. And yet, to everyone working in the ED, she's a lowly intern with much to learn.

It's an absolute whirlwind, and if it weren't for the streak of white hair, she might not have even noticed. The patient has frostbite and acute hypothermia—and no wonder, Maren thinks, when she sees the thin leggings and threadbare shirt, offering almost no protection against the near-blizzard outside. She’s about to put in the IV when she sees the telltale white among the red, and her first thought is _what are the fucking chances_. 

Even though her second through tenth thoughts are screaming for her to look around for her sister, Maren keeps her focus. She puts in the IV, arranges the heating pads, and helps insert the oxygen tube. As she rolls up sleeves and cuts away most of the leggings, the material stiff and frozen, bruises are revealed like villains unmasked. Maren’s seen enough to know that they aren't from a fall, and from the slight frown on the other resident’s face, he knows it too. She almost doesn’t want to do it, but when they’re finishing up and getting ready to move Anna to the main wing, she goes to the waiting room and searches for platinum blonde hair.

At first glance, Elsa looks poised and regal, but once Maren gets another look, she sees the iron grip on the arms of the chair and the tear tracks down Elsa’s face. She's no stranger to the grief and the grieving, but this woman has crossed her mind enough times that the sight is a tiny punch in the gut. “Miss Winters?” she asks, ridiculously, as if she doesn't know who will stand up. “Come with me, I'm Dr. Nattura,” and Elsa leaps from her chair to follow. Maren watches for a sign that Elsa knows her, but her focus on Maren could just be her desire to hear the news.

As they walk, Maren says, “Your sister has yet to regain consciousness, but she is in stable condition right now. We’re going to get her scanned to get a preliminary idea of how her brain might have been affected, but she seems to be doing okay. With some luck, we won't have to operate at all. In the meantime, what else can you tell us about what happened? We have all of the information that you gave to the paramedics, but if there's anything more…” 

“Anna called me from a payphone about an hour ago. She didn’t seem to be thinking clearly and was difficult to understand. When I arrived, she was unconscious, and I drove her here immediately. I think it's possible that…” Elsa swallows, and nods as Maren holds the door open for her. As she catches sight of Anna, she leaves her sentence unfinished, and claims the chair right next to the bed. “C-can I hold her hand?” she asks.

“Yes, but be sure to keep it in the bath,” Maren answers, forcing her voice to stay even. 

“Thank you. Sorry, I was telling you about…” Elsa nods to herself, and her small smile vanishes. “I think that her husband locked her out of the house. She didn't have her cell or anything on her, and he–well, it wouldn't be his first display of cruelty. Their house is pretty isolated and that payphone was probably the closest one. She would have walked it, and it was almost half a mile away.” She’s trembling, whether with anger or sadness Maren can't tell.

Maren hesitates, wondering whether to tell her about what has almost certainly been happening in that house. In the end, she settles on, “Your story certainly lines up with the information we have.” And she doesn't have to stay, probably should go even though it's been one of the quietest shifts she's ever seen. But she can't help but linger just a second longer-

“Thank you,” Elsa says earnestly, and Maren wonders what it could be like to make this woman smile, to make her laugh instead of cry. 

Instead of trying, she says, “You’re welcome, Miss Winters,” and hands the sisters off to the nurse.

* * *

Maybe it means she’s overworked, but to Maren it smells like home.

It's nearing the end of her shift, and it's been a rather busy; there was an office fire a few streets over, so Maren is more than ready to go home and collapse into bed. As she’s finishing up with the last patient—nasty second-degrees up her arms, she catches a flash of the palest blonde out of the corner of her eye. And maybe there are other people out there with hair that pale, but Maren knows, she can feel an unmistakable tug in her heart.

 _You've got to be kidding me_ , she thinks. Does she want to be friends with this woman, who has been so wounded by time, but is still so polite and so caring? Absolutely. But all in all, she'd prefer not to see her in Northuldra ever again.

(A corner of her mind, a corner that remembers her high cheekbones and lovely eyes, her grace and intensity, whispers that she’d rather like to be more than friends. Maren ignores it.)

Of course, Maren knows where she's going to end up. But as she arrives at the bed, she realizes that it's not Elsa’s sister with Elsa accompanying, it's Elsa herself. She's momentarily surprised at the break in this absurd pattern. At least, she thinks, Elsa seems like the kind of person to prefer that she get hurt rather than a loved one, so this is the best reason she could be in the hospital.

Elsa has fractures in her wrist and possibly her ankle, and is very much conscious and very much in pain. “Skiing,” Elsa explains, letting out a whimper as Maren probes her wrist. “Kid hit me from behind and I got twisted up and fell forward onto my wrist. I guess I’m probably not your first patient from the Ahtohallan Slopes, though.” Her sheepish grin quickly turns into a grimace.

Her ankle seems like just a bad sprain, which will resolve itself with proper care. The wrist fracture, however, looks as though it'll have to be set. “Oh!” Elsa exclaims, as they're waiting for the local anesthetic to kick in. She starts to move her hand in her haste, and Maren has to catch it in her own to keep her still. Elsa blushes a bit but continues, “My sister Anna Winters is in the waiting room. She doesn't do too well with blood, or this kind of thing, but could you ask for her afterwards?” Maren replies in the affirmative, and then tears her eyes away from Elsa’s ocean-blues to work on her broken bones. 

She holds Elsa’s hand gently as she works and tells her to keep her fingers moving. And Maren is a good doctor, she really is; she would never compromise her performance, no matter how drop-dead gorgeous her patient is. Still, she can't help but notice how lovely Elsa’s fingers are. They’re long and delicate, belonging to an artist, and when they move against the back of Maren’s hand she can feel their coolness through her glove. 

She wants to talk to her, but what do you say to someone whose life you’ve unwittingly invaded, haunting their worst memories? They end up having a stilted conversation about skiing and snowboarding (Maren does the latter), and she’s just as proud of the upturned corners on Elsa’s mouth as she is of her wrist when she's done. Afterwards, she promises to return, has an intern fetch Anna, orders some X-rays for Elsa, and leaves. 

She stops by right at the end of her shift. Elsa’s got an ankle brace on, and her cast has probably just finished, but it’s already covered in snowflake patterns. Anna is tracing out the newest one on her wrist, and Elsa is laughing at something she's said. It's enough to make her feel a little less bone-tired. “Hello again, Miss Winters,” she says, knocking and stepping in.

The smile lingers on Elsa's face as she says, “Elsa, please. And this is my sister Anna.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Anna. I'm Dr. Nattura.” 

“Wait, Nattura?” Anna’s eyes widen, and she shakes Maren’s hand with a little more enthusiasm than necessary. “Do you have a twin named Ryder, by any chance?”

“I-yes, I do,” Maren answers, stunned. “Do you know him?”

“He’s my boyfriend’s best friend! I don't know if he's ever mentioned Kristoff, but he's always going on about his little sister Maren,” Anna says excitedly.

"Littler by ten minutes,” Maren snorts. “I have met Kristoff once or twice, actually—he seems like a great guy. Small world though, huh?”

“Small world,” Anna agrees, and gives Elsa a significant look. The woman in question frowns back at her ever so slightly. 

Maren gives them both a rundown of Elsa’s X-rays, information about the cast and the PT she'll have to do afterward, and activities to avoid in the meantime. Luckily, Elsa is left-handed, so she won't be out of commission in the meantime. She's an architect, Anna informs her, with no small amount of pride. In fact, Anna does almost all of the talking, which makes sense when her sister has two broken bones, but Maren can't help but wish that Elsa would say something. _She's probably sick of seeing me_ , Maren thinks wryly.

As she's taking her leave, though, she gets her wish. “I remember you,” Elsa says quietly. “I don't know if you...”

“I do,” Maren says, her heart beating rather faster than it should. “How much...which…” she trails off awkwardly.

“I recognized you every time,” Elsa answers her unfinished question. “It was funny,” she says, running a self-conscious hand through her hair. “I rather felt like you were my guardian angel.”

Maren laughs, despite herself. “I always felt like more of a curse,” she confesses. “But either way, the string of coincidences-”

“You almost want to call it something more than coincidence,” Anna comments, a twinkle in her eye. Elsa blushes, and Maren can feel a heat in her own cheeks. _Professionalism, professionalism,_ she chants in her mind.

“I suppose that depends on what you believe in,” she says, and then forces herself back to the matter at hand. “Either way, it’s probably better for your sake if there weren't any more of them. Good evening, Anna, Elsa. Please don't hesitate to reach out to me if you have any questions or issues. Someone should be coming by shortly to discharge you.”

The sisters, mostly Anna, respond with eager politeness, and Maren goes, shutting the door behind her. _Get a grip,_ she tells herself, leaning against the wall for a moment to calm her racing heart. It's the only reason she hears Anna’s shriek (maybe not the only reason–she is pretty loud).

“You seriously called her a guardian angel, and didn't follow that up with a comment about how beautiful she is?!”

“She's working, Anna,” Elsa hisses in response. 

Maren’s legs still don't feel very steady, but she pushes off the wall anyway and walks away.

* * *

She fidgets, and hopes that she doesn’t smell like a hospital.

“Relax, Maren,” Ryder punches her arm.

Maren punches him back, getting a yelp in response. She scans her red button-down for stains, tucks back a stray hair, fiddles with the belt loops on her black jeans. “I am relaxed,” she mutters.

“If this is you relaxed, it's a wonder they let you work in the ER,” he shoots back, right as the door opens. “Kristoff!”

“Hey, Ryder! Hey, Maren. Come in.” Kristoff’s massive size belies his gentle kindness as he takes their coats to hang up. “I'm glad you could make it. Game nights are getting kind of predictable,” he grins. 

“I heard that!” Anna shouts, appearing by his side. “Elsa and I are getting better every time, you know. Hi Maren, Ryder.” She darts forward to hug them both. “Nice to see you out of scrubs, Maren. You look great! Doesn't she, Elsa?” she says slyly, as the woman in question walks around the corner.

“Oh–yes–Maren, hi, good to see you,” she stammers, blushing. Maren thought she was pretty before, but her mouth goes dry at the sight of her. Elsa’s wearing a blue sweater and white pants, nothing fancy, but it’s the first time that Maren’s seen her happy, and she’s radiant. Anna leads them into the living room and introduces her to Olaf and Bruno, two short, stocky men with the same untamable energy as Anna.

The night is wonderful, lively and loud. Apparently after Elsa destroyed the boys at pictionary for three weeks straight, they picked charades in revenge, or so Anna tells her. Indeed, Elsa is abysmal at it, and Maren herself isn't much better, and they lose handily. “You guys are really on the same brainwaves, though,” Anna informs them, grinning. “I think that's a personal record for you, Elsa, even though I really don't know how Maren got ‘snowboard’ from _that_.”

The only downside of the night, Maren thinks, is that charades doesn't provide a lot of opportunities for conversation. She's sitting right next to Elsa, shoulders occasionally brushing, but they only ever manage a few scattered sentences between rounds. So despite being exhausted at the end of the night, Maren is reluctant to go.

The party crowds around the entrance in a chorus of goodbyes, and somehow Elsa appears beside her amidst the chaos to help her into her coat. “I'm glad that our meeting this time hasn't been a coincidence,” Elsa tells her. Their fingertips brush.

“I made sure it wasn’t,” Maren dares, and is gratified to see Elsa smile and blush. “In fact,” she ventures, “I wouldn’t mind ensuring that our next meeting isn't a coincidence, either.” She holds out her cellphone, wondering at her steady hand despite all her years of performing surgery.

She leaves with Elsa’s number, feeling like she's walking on air.

* * *

“Hey, fancy seeing you here,” Maren murmurs. Elsa gives her an oh-so-familiar exasperated look, although she can't quite keep the smile off her face.

“I'm just saying, it's a real coincidence. And we're matching, too!” Maren says under her breath some minutes later, gesturing to Elsa’s white dress. Her words are nearly drowned out by the sound of Anna blowing her nose, but from the roll of her eyes she knows Elsa hears her.

“I now pronounce you wife and wife,” Olaf says magnanimously, looking surprisingly formal in his suit. That is, until he giggles and gestures, “Go on, guys!”

“Well, coincidentally enough, it's the only way to shut you up,” Elsa says dryly, pulling her in for a kiss.


	2. dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's elsa's turn

At first, she seems like a dream.

Elsa waits for what feels like years—long after the dream leaves, summoned by a stern, sorrowful old woman. Halfway there, she had turned around and run back to embrace her gently and whispered, “I hope we meet again.” Just the memories of her words and her warmth make the wait a little better, taming the storm of anxiety inside her.

Eventually, Mother emerges to tell her that Anna is going to be okay, and Elsa cries again, but this time in relief. And the dream turns out to be at least partly right, because Anna doesn't hate her. As soon as her sister sees her, she shouts, “Elsa look! I'm a mummy!” and tries to bound forward before Father restrains her. 

Unfortunately, the dream is partly wrong too, because apparently what she deserves is not a Kit-Kat but- “Boarding school?” she asks. “Is Anna coming too?”

“Anna is not the heir to my business,” Father says, and the disappointment in his voice hurts so bad. It hurts worse than his shouting did when she ran to him last night, carrying Anna on trembling legs. “You are, and tonight’s events have proved that as it stands, you will not be ready.”

She hardly slept at all the night before, but she lies awake for a long time looking at Anna in the next bed, trying to make sure she’ll remember what she looks like. She looks for so long that when her eyes finally shut against her will, Anna’s face drifts through her dreams.

Anna’s face, and someone else’s too.)

* * *

The board is beginning to file in for their quarterly meeting, and it's her first time at the helm with her father. She's been attending the winter and summer meetings when school was out of session since she was fifteen, and six years later, she's actually going to speak at one of them. She’s spent a whole week balancing her finals with the preparations, and pretending she isn't so that Father doesn't tear into her again about double majoring in architecture. 

Her phone rings, and she answers without looking at the screen. There's only one person it could be.

“Your mother’s eye appointment ran late, so I'm only going to be there a couple minutes early,” Father says without preamble. “Do you have the report from the CFO with you? I want you to run through the highlighted section on the sixth page again.”

“I do. I was just looking at it, actually.” Elsa answers, opening the embossed Arendelle Industries folder and skimming through it. “It’s-” she stops short. “I know I have it, Father, just one moment.” She forces down the panic rising inside her, moves into the smaller conference room, out of sight from the board members chatting outside.

“Elsa,” Father says in a warning tone. Elsa rifles through the papers frantically. _It was here, right after this page!_ “Drive faster,” he snaps at the chauffeur, and in the background, she can hear her mother saying, “Mattias, don't. We’re alright, Agnarr.” The sounds of her mother’s voice makes her feel a little better, but not much.

“I’ll go ask Oaken to print another right now,” she tells him desperately, feeling a lump start to form in her throat. “I know which section you mean, it'll only be a minute-”

“Elsa, this is exactly the sort of thing I was afraid of,” Father says icily. “If you can't even prepare for a routine meeting, how on earth are you going to handle being the face of Arendelle? If you're not ready, I’ll have to ask Kai to take the reins with me again today–shit, Matti-”

His voice is cut off by her mother’s scream, and then there’s silence.

“Dad?” Elsa says quietly. There's no response. “Dad!” she shouts this time, and sees the silhouettes of people turning in her direction. _Don’t assume the worst,_ she reminds herself, but a glance at her phone shows that the call has been terminated. 

...

She marches into the board room and announces in a smooth voice that their meeting is being postponed, and leaves before they can ask any questions.

She calls 911, and informs them coolly that her parents may have been in an accident, and that they were within a few minutes’ drive of Arendelle. 

She calls Anna next, cuts off her congratulations and questions about their celebratory family lunch to tell her to expect a call from Northuldra, and hangs up when Anna shouts for Hans.

She drives to the hospital— _very_ carefully, avoiding the roads her parents might have taken—and is shown into a plush waiting room, with a television that she switches off.

All this time, she tries not to think about what has happened, what could have happened, and doesn't quite succeed.

“Elsa!” Anna shouts, wrenching open the door. Her sister practically slams into her, eager and wanting as always. Elsa wraps her arms around her stiffly, suppressing a frown as she sees Hans slip in as well. They had only gotten together at homecoming a couple months ago, according to her mother, and this is certainly an occasion that Elsa would classify as family only.

“Anna, why is he here?” she murmurs into her ear. 

Anna, unfortunately, is not so discreet. “Hans drove me here!” she exclaims, stepping away from Elsa. “What would you have him do, wait outside?”

“It's nice to meet you, Elsa,” Hans says, before she can respond. “What a shame it isn't under more...pleasant circumstances.” To Elsa, his words have a ring of insincerity, which isn't helped at all by the slight smirk on his face. “Of course, I understand that-”

The door opens, and a tiny man whose coloring can only be described as _gray_ enters. All of Elsa’s fears return with a force. Her head swims, and she only vaguely sees Anna tugging Hans down to sit. She gives an affirmation to a question that she barely hears, and a second later someone else—a nurse, maybe—slips in as well.

The doctor is speaking, grim-faced, but blood is roaring in her ears, and it's several seconds before she's calmed down enough to listen to him. “-there was nothing we could do. I'm so sorry for your losses.”

Shock rolls in like a wave, cold and blanketing, and Elsa observes everything with a horrible detachedness. Anna has folded in on herself, sobbing openly. Hans is quick to wrap an arm around her, but the look in his eye is calculating. _We’re alone_ , Elsa thinks, and that's when she has to stand up to go. 

Except the nurse is blocking the door, and as Elsa looks up to meet brown eyes that are impossibly soft she discovers it isn't a nurse at all. She is in business casual, has grown into curves and a sharp jawline, and looks so very different from a decade ago, but she holds Elsa’s gaze as she steps aside, and Elsa _knows_.

 _She’s not a dream, she’s a curse_. And it's this realization as much as anything else that Elsa mourns in her car, finally letting out a ragged scream as she revs the engine so that no one will hear.

* * *

She's freezing. Oh, the irony.

When Anna called, her voice so weak that Elsa had almost hung up, she had just gotten out of the shower. In her hurry, she’d thrown on a thin flannel and jeans, and ran out the door, without thinking of bringing an extra coat. So now she’s watching her sister being carted off by emergency medics, pale and unmoving and wearing Elsa’s winter jacket, while she shivers and heads for the main entrance. 

She checks into the waiting room, which perhaps fortunately is too crowded for her to pace in. Instead, she's reduced to fidgeting and Googling the effects of hypothermia (because knowledge that makes her feel nauseous is better than leaving her imagination to its own devices). Sooner than she expects—is that a good thing, she wonders?—her name is being called in the smoothest voice she's ever heard, and she's looking up to meet burnt caramel eyes. _Again._

And for some reason, she's not surprised at all. Maybe it's her mind just subconsciously expects to see Maren at this point, or maybe—not that she'd ever admit it—she's been darting glances at anyone in a white coat, despite the impossibility of it all. But apparently, it's not impossible at all.

Maren’s voice is like honey. Something she could drown in, but her words are so professional that Elsa doubts that she recognizes her at all. And why should she? Those two days weren't the worst of _her_ life. She's probably just another one of a million grieving relatives that Maren—Dr. Nattura, rather—has seen.

Except when the doctor ushers her out of the waiting room, Elsa swears she feels the faintest brush against her back. Like Maren had almost touched her, and only just stopped herself. 

The thought, as significant as it is, gets banished from her mind as the doctor starts to speak again. She feels her heart leap when she hears that Anna’s alive, and feels it thud right back to the ground when she sees a tiny red-headed frame buried amidst a mass of tubes and blankets and water baths. Her sister’s hand is still cold, but it's got some color, and is far warmer than it was when Elsa half-carried, half-dragged her into the car. Where a tiny sliver of arm is bared, the skin is purple, and obviously not from the cold.

She’d thought of it, as she cursed at stop lights and waited for browsers to load. Anna had chosen Hans over her when she'd graduated, chosen Hans over college, and when the strained phone calls came to an abrupt halt she'd thought it was her own fault. Now Hans’ possessive manner, the loss of contact, Anna’s uncharacteristically heavy makeup in her last social media posts, they make the worst kind of sense. The events of this evening, according to Anna’s garbled tale on the phone, are the almost inevitable end of a trail lit with neon signs.

And Elsa missed all of them.

She knows she has to tell the doctor, in case Anna is otherwise injured. So she does, keeping her gaze fixed on Anna to avoid the censure that is sure to be in those beautiful eyes. But when Maren— _Dr. Nattura_ —responds, there's no judgement in her voice. Elsa had cried during the entire drive to the hospital, cried until she'd felt like a dry, empty husk. But one look at Dr. Nattura, feeling her steady, compassionate presence, and she can feel herself crumbling all over again.

 _She’s like a guardian. A guardian angel._ And although Elsa can hardly speak anymore, she tries her best to say _thank you_. 

Anna wakes up four hours later, and Elsa takes her to her home (their home, now) the next day.

* * *

“Elsa, there’s no way this isn't serious enough to warrant at least a hospital visit. Frankly, I kind of hope your wrist is broken. Because I've gone through life believing that non-broken wrists do not and could not look like _that_.” Anna glances at the offending joint pointedly as they swing into a parking spot.

“Good to know that you have my wellbeing in your best interests, huh?” Elsa shoots back playfully as she carefully steps out. “Ow, _shi-”_ Her ankle gives way beneath her in a flash of pain, and she clutches onto the (thankfully locked) car door with her (thankfully uninjured) hand.

“In the best interest of your wellbeing, I'm going to get someone to help you inside,” Anna announces, pushing her back into the car.

She’s lucky that she fell right at the bottom of the slope, otherwise she could’ve been picked up by the slope paramedics and taken to Weselton Hospital. It would have been slightly more convenient, closer to her apartment, but Northuldra is one of the best hospitals in the state. In mere moments, Elsa finds herself inside, waiting on a bed. 

The pain is tremendous, especially in her wrist, which is why Elsa does not think about the other outstanding feature of Northuldra until—magically, fatefully—she appears before Elsa once again.

“Good evening, Ms. Winters,” Dr. Nattura says, and Elsa could swear the fire raging in her wrist is tamed right at that second. She’s crossed Elsa’s mind occasionally, when she drives past the hospital or goes home after a tepid date or remembers the day her parents died–okay, maybe that's more than occasionally. But the point is that Elsa’s memory never even came close to capturing how gorgeous Maren is, and now she's here and Elsa feels like a teenager, tangled and awkward.

“Ms. Winters?” Dr. Nattura asks, and Elsa realizes she's been asked a question.

“Oh, sorry! Could you repeat that?” she blushes.

Maren is kind, and gentle, and has near-saintly patience, all of which she’s been able to infer already. What Elsa hasn’t guessed at is how funny she is, how engaging, how cute her eyes are when they crinkle up in a genuine smile. “There’s an exact science to it, you know,” Maren explains, and pauses to bite her tongue in concentration. Elsa half-wishes, for the millionth time, that she could feel Maren holding her wrist. “I had to cut in front of him at the exact moment he was going to go for it, but be subtle and oblivious enough that he wouldn’t notice and call me out.”

“So your brother never got to show off his jumps for his date?” Elsa laughs, shaking her head.

“No, I let on to what I was doing at the end of the day, and went to bring the car while they went on their last run down. Still, he sulked the whole way back from the slopes once she left,” Maren admits, a twinkle in her eye. Their gazes meet and hold, and Elsa’s heart jumps around like a baby rabbit, until Dr. Nattura clears her throat and looks back down.

 _S_ _he’s working, don’t read into it, she’s just being a good, professional doctor,_ Elsa reminds herself. Still, when Dr. Nattura asks her another question about skiing, she leaps into it, and they have another, if more formal, conversation about the merits of their respective snow sports until her wrist is finished, and the doctor excuses herself. As the door shuts, Elsa lets out a tiny sigh and sinks back into the bed—and blushes fiercely when the nurse shoots her a knowing look.

...

“Elsa!” Anna exclaims, as if they've been apart for months instead of less than an hour. She nearly hugs her, and restrains herself at the last second with a sheepish look. “How are you feeling? Ooh, you’ve got a cast! Oh, _please_ let me draw on it, I promise I’ll keep it appropriate. Please?” her sister pleads, giving her best puppy-dog face.

Elsa thinks of the long sleeves she’ll have to wear with clients, and the stains it might leave if it gets wet. “Fine,” she sighs fondly.

(It’s a good puppy-dog face.)

“Take two, because I got distracted,” Anna says, producing a blue Sharpie seemingly out of nowhere, “how are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Elsa responds easily, smiling as Anna begins a zig-zag border pattern. “The painkillers kicked in a little while ago. Oh, and it turns out my ankle is only sprained.”

Anna hums in approval. “And the doctor was fine?” 

_Oh yes, she’s fine_. 

When Elsa doesn’t respond, throat stuck, Anna looks up quizzically. “Elsa? Wait, are you blushing? Oh my god, you are.”

“No! I’m just a little warm in here,” Elsa insists, playing with the edge of a sheet.

“You’re an awful liar,” Anna says with conviction, brandishing the Sharpie at her in indictment. “She's cute, isn't she?”

“N-no, well…” Elsa gives up on that lie halfway through, knowing how blatantly obvious it will be when Maren comes back.

“Did you guys talk? What’s her name?”

“Anna, I’m not-”

“Please?” 

(It’s a _really_ good puppy dog face.)

“Her name is Maren,” Elsa relents. “But here’s the thing, Anna, it’s incredible. Every time I’ve been to this hospital, every single time, I’ve seen her. She was sitting outside with me when you got hurt with my ice skate. I think she was shadowing when we came for our parents, and she was the junior doctor when you—when I brought you here.” Years later, even though Anna has recovered, has gotten herself a degree and a job and a boyfriend who isn’t manipulative and abusive, they don’t talk about it too much. That’s what her therapy is for, Elsa thinks. 

“That’s kind of creepy,” Anna observes, frowning at a badly lopsided snowflake attempt. 

“I guess with someone else, it could be. With her, it isn’t. I don’t know—I don’t even know her, really, it’s crazy, but every time we meet, she’s just so kind and _warm_ , and I can’t help feeling like-” Elsa cuts herself off, frustrated.

But a smile is slowly growing on Anna’s face. “It sounds like you should get to know her, then. What did you say her last name was?” She pulls out her phone.

“Absolutely not,” Elsa snatches it away with her free hand, ignoring Anna’s noise of indignation.

“Just a little stalking,” Anna protests, and earns a stern look. “Just a _little_!”

“Hmm. Draw a snowflake that doesn’t look like it came out of a trash compactor, and then we’ll talk,” Elsa nods toward her cast. Anna huffs, and she can’t restrain her laughter.

“I’m just saying-” Anna starts, but then the door opens, and in walks the woman herself. Elsa straightens up just the tiniest bit, and berates herself for trying the next moment.

Anna glances at her, and the mischief in her eyes is plainer than the smirk on her face.

_Oh no._

...

After spending the meeting wreaking absolute _havoc_ on Elsa’s pulse, Anna is quite content to stay quiet for the rest of the night. It’s only when Elsa has awkwardly loaded herself into the car that her sister finally opens her mouth again. Probably, Elsa thinks suspiciously, because Anna knows she can’t be _defenestrated_ while she’s behind the wheel.

“So. First things first, she is _hot_ ,” Anna says, eyes on the road. “Like, if she said ‘leather or lace?’ you wouldn’t even be able to decide because she’d look so good in either. Like, you wouldn’t even be mad about being woken up if she showed up at your door in the middle of night only wearing-”

“ _Anna,”_ Elsa grits out, feeling her face flame. 

“And I texted Kristoff to tell him to invite Maren and Ryder for game night next Friday,” Anna continues, as if she hasn't spoken.

“You what?!”

“I also looked her up thoroughly online. Did you know that her full name is actually Honeymaren?” 

“It is?” Elsa asks, before she can restrain herself.

“I know, right? I'd have shortened it too. She's one year younger than you and in her last year of residency at Northuldra. Unfortunately, she’s pretty quiet on social media, just like you, but I follow Ryder on Instagram. Also, her aunt—I don't know how to say her name, but it starts with a ‘Y’—is loud and proud on Facebook, and she has a public profile...” Anna trails off, waiting for Elsa to prompt her.

“And what did you discover, detective?” Elsa mutters, knowing Anna will tell her everything regardless.

“From what I got from her aunt, her parents were both in the army, and were both casualties of Operation Mist, which I guess would have been when she was two years old. Her aunt took in her and Ryder, and they lived here for a few years, but now her aunt is back with the rest of their family in Norway. Then there's some more stuff about her parents, and pictures of Maren through high school. Let me tell you, this girl didn’t even _need_ to glow up. I guess you already know that, since apparently you've been seeing her over the years.” Elsa snorts, despite herself.

“Ryder, on the other hand, has got some _great_ pics. I screenshot and compiled the best ones. Ah, red light! Perfect.” Anna hands her the phone, and Elsa takes it with more curiosity than she's willing to admit. 

There’s a few snowboarding photos, Maren’s dark hair gleaming from the snow’s reflection. Next, a picture of Maren sticking out her tongue against a stunning cliffside backdrop. Then one of Maren photobombing Ryder and his friends at the beach. They’re all wonderful, Maren’s grin infectious in every single picture, but Elsa stares at the last one in particular for a long, long time. It’s Ryder’s International Siblings’ Day tribute, and the caption reads, “thankful for a sister who can open the jars for me.” The earlier picture shows the twins as young teenagers, standing together in front of a boxing ring. But the second photo is of only Maren, inches away from making contact with a punching bag. She’s in only a sports bra and shorts; she's ferocious, exhilarated, and Elsa is absolutely captivated.

“I knew you'd like that one. Man, I want arms like hers.” Anna is craning over to see, and it's only then that Elsa realizes they're at her apartment already.

“Elsa,” Anna says abruptly. Seriously. “If you don't want me to push this, I won't. But you deserve to be happy, and you don't do right by yourself nearly often enough. Selling Arendelle was one right thing, and I think this is the next.” Her sister peers up at her, and suddenly her eyes don't look so innocent anymore.

Elsa can't speak, but she nods, and Anna understands.

* * *

Maren does look good in leather, almost painfully so. Elsa can’t help herself from asking about the jacket as Maren peels it off--apparently it's from Norway. And after Maren makes her try it on, the scent of leather, and something more, lingers on her skin.

Maren sits right next to her all night, touching from shoulders to thighs, and Elsa burns at every point of contact. They don't have much time to talk between games, but when they do, it feels like she’s conversing with an old friend. At some point Maren stretches her arms along the back of the couch, and fiddles with Elsa’s braid when she leans back into it.

Coming from a near-stranger, this intimacy should be frightening. Elsa keeps waiting to feel the anxiety set in, the nervousness around anyone unfamiliar, and it doesn't come. She’s read articles about human connection, and they all point to vulnerability as a key to friendship, which Elsa’s _definitely_ shared enough of. So maybe they are already close, in a funny, twisted way. Still, she doesn't know what Maren wants, and hardly has a better idea of what she herself wants, except _more_ —so she stands at the door and helps her into her jacket and only says something terribly, terribly vague.

Then Maren hands her a cellphone and touches her hip lightly when she takes it back. Her voice is smooth, nearly sultry, but she’s biting her lip, and Elsa realizes that _more_ really means _everything_.

...

“Does this feel like a dream to you too?” Maren asks lazily, what feels like a blink of an eye later. She shifts her head on the pillow to look at Elsa out of the corner of her eye.

Elsa takes a moment to think, tracing the freckles around Maren’s shoulder blades. “Honey, I've felt like I was dreaming since I first met you,” she asserts, and revels in the sound of her lover’s laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed 
> 
> also i've got a couple ideas for this au so tell me if you'd be interested and i'll give it a go


	3. busy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's tag! the bad kind

Sunday, March 5, 8:46pm

_8:46_ | Unknown Number: _Hey, it’s Maren! Just realized that I never gave you my number :)_

_8:50_ | Elsa: _Thanks Maren, really good to hear from you again._

_..._

_8:51_ | Elsa: _Attachment: 1 image_

 _8:51_ | Anna: _OMGG i told u she wud text!! but u sond like a 60yo secetary wtf_

 _8:52_ | Elsa: _Why, because every other word isn’t a typo or abbreviation?_

_8:52_ | Anna: _ >:( _

_8:52_ | Anna: _at least say smthing else_

_8:52_ | Anna: _be flirtyyy ;))_

_8:53_ | Elsa: _I can handle myself, Anna. I just wanted to update you._

_8:53_ | Anna: _ok sis u gotthis! luv u_

_..._

_8:53_ | Maren: _so what are you up to tonight. anything fun?_

_8:53_ | Elsa: _Relaxing mostly, finishing up a Stephen King reread_

* Google search: “what about you text shorthand” _*_

 _8:54_ | Elsa: _wbu?_

_8:54_ | Maren: _SK_ _!! which book?_

_8:54_ | Maren: _i’m reading too, but nothing as interesting - research paper_

_8:55_ | Maren: _obviously i’m doing a great job of staying focused_

_8:55_ | Elsa: _Haha, it’s okay. It seems like you work very hard already._

_8:56_ | Elsa: _I'm reading Green Mile, probably my favorite one_

_8:54_ | Maren: _oh i love that one_

 _8:56_ | Maren: _and t_ _hanks :) but you know, there are some times where i seriously slack off_

 _8:56_ | Elsa: _oh?_

_8:57_ | Maren: _yeah, i gotta admit i'm real sick of broken wrists_

 _8:57_ | Maren: _whenever i deal with them i kinda just bs it now_

 _8:57_ | Elsa: _It's really rather inconsiderate of_ _people to break their wrists so often._

 _8:57_ | Maren: _i'm glad you agree. ok i’ve really gotta finish this but ttyl_

_8:57_ | Elsa: _Have a good night!_

Tuesday, March 7, 7:19pm

_7:19_ | Maren: _Attachment: 1 video_

_7:20_ | Maren: _look at these fools. THIS is what i have to put up when you and Anna do girls’ night_

_7:23_ | Elsa: _Huh._

_7:23_ | Elsa: _Is that an entire slice of pizza?_

 _7:24_ | Maren: _yeppp. He really beat out my brother_

_7:24_ | Maren: _Ryder only managed to fit half a slice in his mouth before he started gagging_

_7:25_ | Elsa: _Ew, I’m glad I’ve already had dinner. Perhaps I’ll show it to Anna though, she’s eating now_

_7:25_ | Elsa: _> :)_

_7:26_ | Maren: _hahaha expose her bf and his hideous pizza annihilation_

 _7:26_ | Maren: _also i can picture that expression on your face very clearly_

_7:29_ | Elsa: _Anna found my mischievous expression quite alarming, as you can see_

 _7:29_ | Elsa: _Attachment: 1 image_

_7:30_ | Elsa: _...but Kristoff’s full-slice bite quite impressive. They really are a good match._

| Maren: ~~_I think we could be too_ ~~

_7:31_ | Maren: _go figure. my opinions on those two things are reversed._

_7:32_ | Elsa: _You think my expression is impressive??_

_7:32_ | Maren: _i didn’t think that comment through_

_7:32_ | Elsa: _lol_

_7:32_ | Maren: _~~hot~~ cute would be a much better descriptor_

_7:33_ | Elsa: _:)_

_7:34_ | Elsa: _You’re not so bad yourself :p_

_..._

_7:35_ | wombmate: _wonder who ur texting_

_7:35_ | wombmate: _u look like a tomato lol_

_7:35_ | Maren: _fuck off at least i can get a girl_

_7:35_ | Maren: _also why are you texting im right here_

 _7:36_ | wombmate: _i mean if ur fine with letting kristoff know that u got the hots for his gfs sister_

 _7:36_ | Maren: _oh i thought he left_

 _7:36_ | wombmate: _nah_ _u been too distracted to hear that pizza slice comin back up_

_7:37_ | Maren: _GROSS TMI bye_

Wednesday, March 8, 12:27pm

_12:27_ | Elsa: A _quote I stumbled across today:_

_12:27_ | Elsa: _“Acting is like lying, the art of lying well"_

_12:27_ | Elsa: _Maybe it's a good thing we're both bad at charades_

_12:29_ | Maren: _lol i bet that was said by a bad actor_

 _12:29_ | Maren: _and hey wth! i personally thought i did great_

_12:29_ | Elsa: _I'm going to try and let you down easy on that one_

_12:30_ | Maren: _lol i was pretty terrible wasn't i_

_12:30_ | Elsa: _Don’t worry haha, we can be bad liars together_

_12:31_ | Elsa: _Not that I meant together together!_

| Elsa: ~~_I'm sorry I don't know what I was thinki_ ~~

_12:31_ | Maren: _more’s the pity ;)_

_12:32_ | Elsa: _Wow, very smooth._

_12:32_ | Maren: _f_ _r though i'd like to spend more time together_

* Google search: “fr text abbreviation” _*_

 _12:33_ | Maren: _if you want to i mean_

_12:34_ | Maren: _idk_

_12:34_ | Elsa: _yes_

_12:34_ | Elsa: _I’d like that too._

_12:34_ | Maren: _:)_

_12:34_ | Elsa: _:)_

  
  


Wednesday, March 8, 6:08pm

_6:08_ | Maren: _dude_

_6:08_ | Maren: _she used to be the CEO_

_6:08_ | Maren: _of Arendelle Industries_

_6:09_ | wombmate: _?_

 _6:09_ | Maren: _i just looked her up_

_6:09_ | Maren: _she started when she was 21!!_

 _6:09_ | Maren: _do you know what i was doing when i was 21?!_

 _6:10_ | wombmate: _well yea i was there. u were a dumbass_

_6:10_ | wombmate: _r u talking about elsa?_

 _6:11_ | Maren: _yeah_

_6:11_ | Maren: _bro i had to count the number of zeros in her net worth_

 _6:11_ | wombmate: ay _at least u dont have 2 worry about them student loans_

_6:11_ | Maren: _:(_

_6:12_ | wombmate: _dude stop worrying_

_6:12_ | Maren: _she’s so out of my league_

_6:13_ | wombmate: _so she’s rich idgaf_

_6:13_ | wombmate: _and i doubt u really do either_

 _6:13_ | Maren: _u_ _r right. its just intimidating, you know?_

 _6:13_ | Maren: _she was like_

 _6:13_ | Maren: _capitalist royalty_

 _6:14_ | wombmate: _lmaooo do u even hear urself? bro u literally save lives for a living_

 _ _6:14__ | wombmate: _even i can see she likes u, don't waste time wondering y_

_6:14_ | wombmate: _chill out and get home soon_

 _6:14_ | wombmate: _otherwise ill eat ur dinner_

_6:15_ | Maren: _thanks Ry_

_6:15_ | wombmate: _6 yrs past 21 and ur still a dumbass_

 _6:15_ | wombmate: _capitalist royalty ahaha_

Thursday, March 9, 6:51am

_6:51_ | Maren: _hey, i’ve got an early night tonight, do you want to go to the park and take advantage of this weather?_

 _7:16_ | Elsa: _I’d love to, but I’m actually on a work trip for the next couple of days._

_7:16_ | Elsa: _sorry :(_

_10:49_ | Maren: _no worries! where are you, anywhere fun?_

_10:52_ | Elsa: _Attachment: 1 image_

_10:53_ | Maren: _lovely sunrise. Seattle?_

_10:54_ | Elsa: _Yes. Have you been?_

_10:54_ | Maren: _a couple of times, a friend from med school lives there_

_10:54_ | Elsa: _Any recommendations? :)_

_10:54_ | Maren: _actually yes_

 _10:56_ | Maren: _Attachment: 1 link_

_10:56_ | Maren: _Tiana is a food blogger_

_10:57_ | Elsa: _Wow, thank you! I’ll definitely check it out_

 _10:57_ | Maren: _np! have a good trip_

Saturday, March 11, 9:43am

_9:43_ | Elsa: _Hey, I just got back from Seattle. The restaurants your friend recommended were amazing!_

_9:43_ | Elsa: _I was thinking of going to the food truck festival some time this weekend. Are you available at all?_

_12:04_ | Maren: _ive got 2 16hr shifts :(_

_12:04_ | Elsa: _that’s rough, I’m sorry. Hope you make it through all right._

_12:09_ | Maren: _no rest for the wicked or for the surgical residents and i'm both_

_12:10_ | Maren: _see u on the other side_

Tuesday, March 14,8:12am

_8:12_ | Maren: _well i guess the other side of this weekend is rain and only rain_

_8:12_ | Maren: _how have you been?_

_8:18_ | Elsa: _Pretty great! Kristoff proposed to Anna yesterday._

_8:19_ | Maren: _FINALLY! i’ve known since last week, actually. he was practicing with Ryder_

 _8:19_ | Maren: _it's been a struggle not to tell you_

_8:20_ | Elsa: _I suppose it’s a good thing that we haven’t managed to meet up, then._

_8:21_ | Maren: _well that was unintended, and something i’d like to remedy_

_8:21_ | Elsa: _Hmm, are you free tomorrow? We could get dinner._

_8:22_ | Maren: _I’m on call Mon/Wed evenings, but I don’t usually have to go in_

_8:22_ | Maren: _just gotta be within 30m of the hospital at all times_

_8:24_ | Elsa: _There’s a Korean place nearby that’s pretty good?_

_8:24_ | Maren: _Korean sounds great. are you free at 7?_

_8:24_ | Elsa: _7 is perfect. I’ll make the reservation._

 _8:25_ | Maren: _i’m excited already_

_8:25_ | Elsa: _If your standards are like your friend’s, the food may not live up to those kind of expectations._

_8:25_ | Maren: _it’s not the food that i’m excited for_

_8:27_ | Elsa: _Don’t set your standards too high for the company either. She’s a bit of a dork._

_8:27_ | Maren: _hey, chicks dig that ;)_

 _8:28_ | Maren: _see you tomorrow!_

Wednesday, March 15, 7:24pm

_7:24_ | Anna: _U TOLD KRISTOFF THAT UR GOING ONT DATE N NOT ME?! UR SITSER!!_

 _7:24_ | Anna: _id better get a full repor t afterwrd! or i will be v upsset_

_7:27_ | Elsa: _Kristoff asked me if I had plans tonight, which is why I told him._

_7:27_ | Elsa: _And anyway, the date is over._

_7:28_ | Anna: _wait wat?? did smthg go wrong? r u ok?_

_7:28_ | Elsa: _Maren’s pager went off a minute after she got here._

_7:29_ | Elsa: _I’m fine._

 _7:29_ | Anna: _aww :(( that sux tho_

 _7:30_ | Elsa: _We were both really excited._

 _7:30_ | Elsa: _She’s just really busy. It’s tough to work anything out._

_7:30_ | Anna: _well u shouldnt giv up!_

 _7:32_ | Elsa: _I know._

_7:33_ | Elsa: _I’m at the grocery store right now, but I’ll be over soon. Talk then._

_7:33_ | Anna: _kk cya_

Friday, March 17, 10:04am

_10:04_ | Maren: _just spotted someone online selling decent tickets for a Saturday night Broadway musical_

 _10:04_ | Maren: _it’s based off a Disney movie that never got finished, something about a girl with ice powers_

 _10:05_ | Maren: _would you be interested?_

Friday, March 17, 12:18pm

_12:18_ | Maren: _okay I think someone else bought them_

_12:18_ | Maren: _but i’m free all weekend starting saturday afternoon, so lmk if you want to do anything!_

_12:19_ | Maren: _i’d love to see you_

Saturday, March 18, 3:57pm

_3:57_ | Maren: _Ry idk what to do_

_3:58_ | Maren: _i asked Elsa what she was doing this weekend and she just went radio silent_

 _3:58_ | Maren: _i thought she might be busy but it’s been a full day_

_4:00_ | wombmate: _wow u r whipped lol_

_4:00_ | wombmate: _but how quick does she usually respond_

 _4:00_ | Maren: _within a few minutes!_

_4:00_ | Maren: _we keep trying to meet up and it hasnt been working_

 _4:00_ | Maren: _and on wed we were gonna get dinner but i got called back in a hot sec_

 _4:01_ | Maren: _and_ _idk she just looked so closed off when i left_

_4:01_ | wombmate: _u didnt tell me any of this!!_

_4:01_ | Maren: _i havent even seen your face since tues ive been so busy_

_4:02_ | Maren: _what if she thinks im too busy_

_4:02_ | wombmate: _u r 2 busy_

_4:02_ | Maren: _what if she doesnt want to try anymore_

_4:02_ | Maren: _and thinks its too much hassle to date a resident_

 _4:03_ | Maren: _like what happened with Ariel_

_4:04_ | wombmate: _thats diff it was long distance_

_4:04_ | wombmate: _its hard to be in relationship w someone across the sea no matter wat_

_4:04_ | wombmate: _just wait it out thats all u can do anyway_

 _4:05_ | Maren: _im trying_

| Maren: ~~_i just cant stop worr_ ~~

_4:05_ | wombmate: _and STOP WORRYING_

_4:06_ | Maren: _ok_

_4:06_ | Maren: _ok_

 _4:06_ | wombmate: _i_ _ll b back around 6_

_4:07_ | wombmate: _and ur gonna come out with me tonite_

_4:07_ | Maren: _ok_

Sunday, March 19, 7:36pm

_7:36_ | Ryder: _hey ik ur outta town this weekend but dyou know if shits all gud with elsa_

_7:36_ | Ryder: _maren hasnt heard from her in a couple days and shes going off the walls_

_7:36_ | iceman: _I’m not sure._

_7:36_ | iceman: _Anna emailed me yesterday to say that she broke her phone so I haven’t heard much._

_7:36_ | iceman: _She did mention Elsa I think, let me check and see exactly what it said._

_7:36_ | Ryder: _she thinks elsa thinks shes a golddigger or sleazy or that her hours r 2 crazy 4 it to work_

_7:36_ | Ryder: _i wont tell maren if shes tryna break it off thats their business_

_7:36_ | Ryder: _but if like ur fiance just dropped elsas phone too i wanna put her out of her misery_

_7:36_ | iceman: _Sorry man, I couldn’t tell you._

_7:36_ | iceman: _All Anna said was she thinks something’s up with Elsa, and that she was going to go see her._

_7:36_ | iceman: _But unless Maren did something ridiculous, I doubt Elsa thinks she’s after just money or sex._

_7:36_ | Ryder: _yeah i told her that but this fool doesnt listen 2 me._

 _7:36_ | iceman: _Elsa does really value making time for people, though. I don't know how she'd handle Maren's hours._

_7:36_ | iceman: _Personally, I’m rooting for them. Elsa could do with someone like Maren in her life._

_7:36_ | Ryder: _wow dr. love himself speaks_

 _7:36_ | Ryder: _but in all seriousness i agree_

Monday, March 20, 7:02am

_7:02_ | Elsa: _Hey, I’m so sorry for not getting back to you!_

 _7:02_ | Elsa: _I came down with something and Anna’s been mothering me_

_7:03_ | Elsa: _Which included confiscating my phone_

 _7:03_ | Elsa: _And then forgetting where she put it :(_

 _7:25_ | Maren: _hey! no worries at all, how are you feeling?_

_7:28_ | Elsa: _Fine, actually. Whatever it was left my system as quickly as it came._

_7:29_ | Maren: _ah, the mysteries of illness_

_7:29_ | Elsa: _I hope you don’t say that to any of your patients._

_7:29_ | Maren: _nah i wait until they’re ex-patients_

 _7:30_ | Elsa: _Lol_

_7:30_ | Elsa: _I really do feel bad for ghosting you like that, though._

_7:30_ | Elsa: _Do you want to meet up tonight?_

_7:31_ | Maren: _i’m on call monday evenings :/_

_7:31_ | Elsa: _I know. My place is about 25 minutes from Northuldra._

_7:34_ | Maren: _i just don’t want to ditch you again_

_7:34_ | Elsa: _14 Frost Ln 7pm_

_7:34_ | Elsa: _unless you don’t want to which is totally fine_

_7:34_ | Maren: _no i do! i’ll see you then_

 _7:35_ | Elsa: _looking forward ;)_

  
  


Monday, March 20, 8:04pm

_8:04_ | wombmate: _hows ur date going!!_

_8:07_ | Maren: _she fucking made me hotpot_

_8:07_ | Maren: _with like restaurant level selection_

_8:07_ | Maren: _and i saw the box for the induction cooker in her recycling_

 _8:07_ | Maren: _which means she BOUGHT IT_

_8:08_ | Maren: _just so i could leave and come back if i got called in_

_8:08_ | wombmate: _there’s a keeper_

_8:08_ | Maren: _oh im definitely keeping her_

_8:08_ | wombmate: _im staying up 4 details wen you get back!!_

_8:10_ | Maren: _might stay the night but yes_

_8:10_ | wombmate: _hold up WHAT_

_8:16_ | wombmate: _maren?_

_8:16_ | wombmate: _ok abandon me after i fix up ur sorry ass_

 _8:16_ | wombmate: _thats fine_

_..._

_8:08_ | Anna: _HOW IT GOING_

 _8:08_ | Anna: _DID SHE LIKE ITA_

_8:10_ | Elsa: _ya_

_8:10_ | Elsa: _lots_

_8:10_ | Elsa: _gtg_

_8:11_ | Anna: _wait_

 _8:11_ | Anna: _that text actually sounded like it ws sent by some1 ur age_

_8:11_ | Anna: _and uve gtg so suddenly_

 _8:11_ | Anna: _nd she liked it “alot”_

 _8:11_ | Anna: _omg_

_8:12_ | Anna: _are yall geting busyyyyyyyyy_

_8:12_ | Elsa: _yes now STOP TXTING_

_8:12_ | Anna: _OMG yes ok ttyl aaahhsodjfopqneiqniaksdnkj_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the comments guys! there's no better motivation  
> and i really needed motivation because formatting this was the WORST and took SO LONG  
> if anyone's got requests let me know  
> except more texting ones  
> never again


	4. cheerios

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, suddenly getting terrible writer's block and leaving a chapter half-finished and sad for amonth? that sounds...very plausible
> 
> i've got one more chapter idea, but after this disaster i won't promise it'll ever come to anything
> 
> hope y'all enjoy, thoughts and suggestions > hotpot for me

She ends at 6, which means that she has time to stop at home and make herself decent, if she hurries.

Maren _hurries._

When she bursts through the door, Ryder is sitting on the couch with a smoothie in hand and a soccer match blaring in front of him. She rushes past him with all the grace of a blind rhinoceros, tripping over the remote, kicking it under the couch, and turning off the TV in the process. Her brother drops his smoothie in surprise, and Maren spares a moment to mourn the speedy death of her brother’s peaceful evening. “What the hell, Mare!” he shouts.

“Elsa answered! Date at 7!” she yells back breathlessly, slamming the bathroom door shut.

Hair wet and reeking of her fanciest soap, Maren stumbles back to her room to find an outfit laid out on her bed, and makes a silent resolution to buy Ryder the pair of running sneakers that he’s been lusting after. It’s a little more risqué than her usual, but she doesn’t have time to overanalyze. In moments, she’s flying back out the door. “Love you Ry!” she calls out, and can faintly hear him snark back a response. Her phone screen reads _6:26,_ and she hops back into the car feeling ready to rumble.

**…**

One fairly crooked parallel-parking job later, Maren is _not_ feeling ready to rumble. At all.

Elsa...is closer to being a billionaire than Maren is to paying off her student loans. It’s something Maren often forgets because Elsa’s so damn down-to-earth, but stepping out of her beat-up Toyota to come face to face with the sleekest brownstone she’s ever seen serves as a very powerful reminder. Then it occurs to her, somewhat unhelpfully, that Elsa can afford her own private mansion, and is actually being conservative with this purchase. Maren squares her shoulders and reminds herself that she is a _strong independent woman_ , and moreover an _invited guest._ But in the end, it is only the realization that she is actually a _very hungry invited guest_ that gets her to ring the doorbell.

**…**

Elsa...is a disaster.

When she’d gone to the tiny Chinatown area and gotten all of the hot pot ingredients, she’d also had a flash of inspiration, and bought a portable induction cooker at the store next to it. It was dirt cheap, and seemed to have good ratings online, although the reviews were all in Chinese. Unfortunately, as often happens with flashes of inspiration, she had neglected to consider some complicating factors. Namely, that the cooker came in _quite_ a few pieces, and the assembly and operation instructions were _also_ in Chinese.

She knows that she tends to zoom in on little details. Usually, this doesn’t manifest to her disadvantage—she actually thinks that it’s what makes her a good architect. But when the doorbell rings, she realizes that she’s been lost in a haze of Google Translate for far too long; her vegetables are half-finished, the meat is still in the freezer, and she hasn’t even started on the noodles. Worse, she hasn’t changed out of her sweatpants and threadbare white shirt with two, no three, stains on it. Her hair is a fright, half out of its braid, and she just _knows_ that she smells like an expired spice rack. 

Elsa contemplates making Maren wait for just one minute, enough time to at least throw on a sweater and pants without a hole in the leg, but her sense of politeness overrules the tiny panicky voice in the back of her head. So she opens the door—and immediately wants to slam it closed and let that panicky voice _scream_.

Maren is absolutely _stunning_ , in black leggings and a pink halter top that look like they’ve been painted on, with a tantalizing inch of bare skin at her waistline. Her hair is pulled back in an artfully messy bun, revealing intricate gold earrings, and leaving her leather jacket to finish it off. Elsa had been tripping over herself just dealing with this woman in scrubs and at work; now that Maren’s armed with an outfit that puts every curve on display and a smile that makes her feel like the center of the world, she wants to melt into a puddle.

_(Or jump her_ , another voice whispers in her mind. She ignores that one, too.)

“Hey,” Maren says, brandishing a bottle of wine at her. She gives Elsa a once-over, and frowns self-consciously. “Uh, sorry I overdressed, I shouldn’t-”

“You’re not!” Elsa stammers, pulling her inside. “I meant to change, actually, but I got sidetracked. You look...wow. Amazing.” _Hot,_ she thinks, and when Maren’s grin turns sly she realizes she’s said it out loud. She tries and fails to tear her eyes from Maren’s mouth, and thankfully the other woman takes the hint, steps forward and kisses Elsa on the cheek. When she pulls away, Elsa thinks of how soft those lips looked at the game night, how the back of her hand tingled where Maren had kissed it for days after their dinner date, and wonders dizzily when she fell under such a spell. 

“So I got sidetracked,” she repeats, trying to pull herself together. “And I’m not done making dinner.”

“Okay, great, I can help,” Maren says matter-of-factly, pulling up her sleeves. A bit of warmth rushes through her at how ready Maren is to lend a hand after a long workday, but it’s tinged with no small amount of shame.

“Yeah. Sure. It was actually...kind of supposed to be a surprise,” Elsa admits, blushing. At first, she had felt so awful about going radio silent on Maren, and wanted to make it up to her, but now she wonders if it might all be too much. After all, this is their first real date, if you don’t count two spontaneous phone calls and a dinner cut short.

“Oh,” Maren hums, eyes widening. “Well, do you want it to be?”

“Pardon?” Elsa asks, taken aback.

“I mean, I could, well…” Maren gestures to a white beanie hanging by the door, and at Elsa’s look of confusion she puts it on and tugs it past her eyes. “It can still be a surprise,” she says hopefully.

And Elsa has to laugh, looking at this gorgeous woman, a surgeon dressed for the front cover of a magazine— _her_ _date_ —standing arms outspread with half of her face stuffed in a hat. “As you wish,” she answers, taking Maren’s hand and leading her to the kitchen. 

“I love surprises,” Maren says happily, squeezing her hand and sending thrills down her spine. “But can I still help?”

“You’re kidding,” Elsa says. When Maren shrugs, she can’t keep her voice from rising in incredulity. “There is absolutely _no way_ that I’m going to let you anywhere _near_ a stove or a knife without the use of your eyes!”

Maren shrugs again. “Elsa, I’m a surgeon. I’m not saying you should set me loose on the flambés, but I’m familiar enough with sharp objects to handle, say, cutting vegetables.”

“You’re not cutting these,” Elsa insists, although she remembers how expertly Maren manipulated the bones in her wrist. _That’s not all those hands could do_ , a thought surfaces unbidden, and she’s glad Maren can’t see her sudden blush.

“That means you have vegetables that need cutting,” Maren sing-songs. She crosses her arms, utterly confident in herself.

And after a little more bickering, Elsa sets her in front of the carrots and green onions with her sturdiest knife and several warnings. Maren slices carefully, methodically, and impressively fast for someone robbed of vision, and eventually Elsa stops stealing glances to see if her fingers are intact. 

(Although that doesn’t mean she stops stealing glances. Maren can’t see her looking, after all; it’s a perfect opportunity.)

“I know you’re staring,” Maren says teasingly, and Elsa nearly drops a strainer full of noodles. She starts to protest, but Maren reaches out a blind hand to touch her shoulder reassuringly, and resumes the story she was telling.

And for some crazy reason, incorporating a beautiful, knife-wielding stranger into her dinner preparations is the most natural thing in the world. She tries to learn everything about Maren: about her family, about medical school, about her favorite meal to make (pizza bagels with pineapple, Maren says, laughing at Elsa’s noise of disgust). In return, Maren slips in her own questions between stories. She never asks anything too personal, but Elsa finds herself opening up anyway, and Maren listens with an earnestness that makes her feel empowered. 

“Boarding school was tough,” she tells her. “I think there’s a reason that kids don’t usually set out on their own until they’re seventeen or eighteen. It kind of ungrounded me, you know? I didn’t feel like I had a home anywhere.” 

Maren hums in sympathy. “Life gets hard without that kind of support.”

“I mean, my parents were never...they had very high expectations of me. I don’t know if you remember when we first-”

“I do,” Maren says, frowning. “They were not very, um…”

“Reasonable?” Elsa fills in, and gets a nod. “Yes, and it took me a long time to realize that. So Anna was my real support, but after I left, things got—complicated. I haven’t been a very good sister to her,” she confesses, and immediately snaps her mouth shut. This woman more than anyone has been privy to the secrets of her childhood, but that doesn’t mean she should unload all of her baggage for Maren to inspect. She opens her mouth to apologize, but gets put off by Maren’s noise of skepticism. “What?” she asks. 

“I don’t know everything,” Maren says haltingly, “but you learn a _lot_ about people in a hospital.” Her expression is serious, but open, the same one she wears in Northuldra. “When someone is hurt, or their loved ones are, you can see everything in their eyes. It distills people, I think, into who they are and what they value. And Elsa, it’s obvious that you care about her _so much._ ” She sets down her knife to face Elsa fully.

“You know, you were the talk of the place,” Maren confides. “That was the first time you had heard from her in what, over a year?” She doesn’t wait for Elsa’s stunned nod. “You drove out in the middle of the night, tracked her down, _carried_ her to your car, and got her here, all through a goddamn _blizzard_.”

“You make it sound so heroic,” Elsa manages.

“Maybe,” Maren shrugs, “but what I really mean is that it’s rare to see somebody who loves like that, and the people they love are lucky as hell to have them.”

She tries to say something—what, she doesn’t know—an all that gets past her lips is something strangled and sad. Maren smiles at it, a strange half-smile that Elsa’s never seen before, and extends both hands in her direction. When she takes them, heart in her throat, Maren pulls her forward until her wool-covered nose scratches against Elsa’s.

“I’m just saying,” Maren breathes, “Give yourself a little credit. God knows I would’ve left Ryder’s ass to freeze.” She flashes a grin at Elsa’s shaky laugh, and something about it pulls her in until their foreheads are touching, too.

“Elsa,” Maren says, voice a little less steady, and _good Lord_ does her name sound so much better on those perfect lips. A hand brushes her cheek carefully. “Can I-”

“ _Yes,_ ” Elsa sighs, and closes the remaining distance before she can think twice. Their lips meet, sweet and soft, and when Maren’s hands thread through her hair, Elsa thinks she could drown in her. Maren is solid and steady and _warm_ , and she can feel that warmth trickling through her, settling into her bones. It makes her smile against Maren’s mouth, makes her feel as light and joyous as a hot-air balloon. She’s vaguely aware of some sprouts that are in danger of over-crisping, but Maren is swiping her tongue across Elsa’s bottom lip, and she decides it could wait a few more seconds. 

Of course, the smoke alarm begs to differ.

At the shrill noise, Elsa squawks and Maren nips at her tongue in surprise. She tries to step away, but somewhere along the way she’d backed up against the kitchen counter, and the movement sends a pot clattering to the floor. “ _Damn it_ ,” she hisses, snatching a stool and running to turn off the alarm. She can feel a blush spreading across her cheeks as she walks back to her date, an embarrassed apology forming on the tip of her tongue. But Maren is gasping for breath against the wall, laughing giddily, and Elsa starts laughing too.

_With some people,_ she thinks, _it's okay to be a little bit of a disaster._

**…**

“I’m starting to think that you delayed making dinner on purpose, just so you could have someone to hold all these things,” Maren says, sulking playfully as Elsa takes the plates from her hands.

“If I had,” Elsa replies, “I would have invited over someone less likely to complain about it.” She grabs the napkins that are draped over Maren’s shoulders, and dares to trace a finger along her jawline as she turns.

“I like to think that my charm makes up for that,” Maren retorts, but she’s a little breathless, and Elsa fights back a smirk. She takes Maren’s hand and guides her to stand in front of the table.

“Okay, are you ready?”she asks, and pulls the beanie off of Maren’s head before she can answer. Maren blinks a few times, getting used to the light, before she sees the spread on the table and her face smooths out into something unreadable.

“It’s hot pot,” Elsa explains, nervous all of a sudden. “I don’t know if you’ve ever had it.”

“I have,” Maren says blankly, turning to face her.

_Oh no. Fix it, say something._ “Well, I figured since you only make a couple of things at a time, it won’t matter if you’re called in. It’s easy to put on pause, so you can just come back afterwards, and I can keep the broth going on this induction cooker, unless-”

“It’s brilliant,” Maren mutters, and Elsa can finally see the intent burning in her eyes. With a gasp, Elsa lets herself be pushed back against the wall as Maren kisses her fiercely. It’s almost overwhelming, the way that her world narrows so urgently to one woman, every sense brimming with her, yearning for her. She parts her legs for Maren to step between them, needing to be _closer,_ and Maren pushes forward to oblige _._ Her whole body thrums with electricity, generated from everywhere that Maren touches her, as Maren kisses her lips, her jaw, her ear-

“If I were any less hungry, I’d do so much more to you,” Maren tells her. Her voice is low and rough in Elsa’s ear, and she shivers.

“I’d let you,” she whispers back. And it’s the truth, Elsa thinks, waiting for a shock that doesn’t come. She’s _sure_ about Maren, in a way that she’s rarely sure about anything or anyone. 

Maren’s eyes darken. “Fuck,” she grinds out, and pulls away with visible effort, still looking at her with enough desire to make Elsa weak at the knees. She smooths down her shirt half-consciously, burying her hands in her pockets to stop them from reaching for Maren again. _Conceal, don’t feel, do NOT drag her upstairs before she’s had a single bite._ Slowly, she walks over to the table to pull out Maren’s chair for her—and everything smells delicious, but what occupies her mind is definitely _not_ the food.

 **…**

“Elsa, this is incredible,” she says, for what might be the third time in five minutes. It’s okay though, because the meal is _really_ good, and Elsa blushes in the cutest way every time she says it. Really, it’s amazing how one woman can be so skittishly polite and yet can kiss with such intoxicating passion. Elsa is a study in contradiction: powerful and humble, awkward and smooth, dry and sincere all at once. Even now, sporting light blue sweatpants and a plain T-shirt (and swollen lips), she looks as beautiful as Maren’s ever seen her.

And they hardly know each other, technically, but Maren thinks this is a study she might happily undertake for a very long time.

“Maren?” Elsa asks, and she realizes that she’s been staring.

“Sorry, yeah. I just got distracted for a second,” Maren offers, as though her leering isn’t embarrassingly obvious. Elsa considers her, and shrugs.

“Do you only go by Maren?” she says suddenly. “I was under the impression that your full name was…”

“Honeymaren,” Maren supplies, taken aback. “Seems that someone’s done her research,” she adds, unable to keep the grin off her face.

“Anna did the research!” Elsa protests, though she’s pinker than Maren’s shirt. “That time I broke my wrist, she told me all about you when I was trapped in the car with her.”

“Why does that sound so believable?” Maren laughs, picturing the scene in her mind. “Well, what did she dig up on me?”

“Most of it was information I’ve learned from you anyway. The schools you went to, your snowboarding and boxing, your family in Norway,” Elsa ticks them off on her fingers. “And your name.” She stands up to return the condiment bottles to the fridge. 

“Huh,” Maren ponders, trying not to get distracted by Elsa’s ass as she bends over. “I mean, it’s a weird name, for sure, and there aren’t a whole lot of Ryders floating around either. But I have absolutely no clue why my parents chose his or mine.” She thinks of all the ridiculous nicknames she’d been given in grade school, and grimaces.

“I could think of a reason.” Elsa blurts, turning around, and immediately claps a hand over her mouth.

“Oh?” Maren prods, extremely intrigued. Despite how much more relaxed Elsa is when they’re alone, she’s still hard to read, and Maren has run herself in circles trying to figure out what a woman like this wants with a penniless fool like her. “It’s not because I’m nauseatingly sweet, is it?” she jokes.

Elsa bites her lip to hold back a smile, and saunters over to her. “No,” she says simply. Teasingly.

Maren’s mouth goes dry. “Does it have anything to do with Cheerios?” she tries, but Elsa is _very_ close to her and her words come out a bit croaky. 

“Oddly enough, I thought of the color of your eyes, and not of cereal,” Elsa says dryly. A thrill runs through her, as much due to Elsa’s proximity as to her words, and she's paralyzed as nimble fingers trace the ridge of her cheekbone. “They’re beautiful,” Elsa mumbles, a shy smile creeping at the corners of her mouth. 

“I’ve been told they’re my best feature,” she declares, trying for nonchalance.

Instead of the eye roll she expects, Elsa glances over her body purposefully, something commanding flickering across her expression. “Maybe not _quite_ your best,” Elsa whispers. Every nerve in her body roars in anticipation, and she wonders vaguely which of them is blushing more. 

Their gazes meet and hold, and she can see the exact moment that Elsa becomes unsure of herself, seeming to realize how forward she’s being. And so before Elsa can do something terrible, like step away, Maren reaches out and catches her wrist.

“Come here,” Maren says quietly, pulling her forward, and the next thing she knows Elsa is straddling her in the chair and framing her face in her pale hands and kissing her with absolute abandon. She’s suddenly, fervently glad that she’s sitting, otherwise her knees would have given out. Here, finally unveiled, is the side of Elsa that Maren has glimpsed through the cracks of her demure restraint—in that teasing touch of her jaw, in the gaze that smoldered when Maren stepped through the door. _Blue flame burns the hottest_ , she thinks hazily, as she falls deeper and deeper.

She slips her hands under Elsa’s shirt, and Elsa takes a sharp breath against her. “Don’t start something and be surprised when I finish it,” Maren teases, but she stills her hands at the hem in silent question.

Elsa answers loud and clear, pulling her into another kiss and separating only when Maren pulls the shirt over her head. She returns to Maren’s mouth almost immediately, leaving her no time to admire the view. “If you keep on like this, you’re not going to finish dinner,” Elsa points out, but she moves her lips to Maren’s neck.

“Well,” Maren flounders, gripping Elsa’s hips in an attempt to anchor herself. “You did say...a key feature is...that we could pause at any time.”

Elsa pulls back to look her in the eye, her own irises the color of midnight. “Would you like to pause dinner, Maren?” she asks, tugging Maren’s hair gently from its bun.

“Would you?” Maren counters, knowing her own answer is obvious in the tremble of her hands. She lets her gaze trail down Elsa’s body, lingering on her pale blue bra, and it takes everything she has to not press forward and let Elsa answer, just to be sure.

“I started wanting you and stopped wanting dinner before it even started,” Elsa admits, and her voice is dark and rich with promise. Maren feels a groan of longing escape her, and in a motion so smooth it surprises herself, she manages to stand up and perch Elsa on the edge of the table. Their lips meet again, and again, and Maren nearly trips several times as she blindly stumbles up the stairs. At the top she picks Elsa up, earning a yelp of surprise that she swiftly silences, and pushes through the door.

“Maren,” Elsa gasps, as Maren pins her against the back of the door. Impatient with desire, Maren slides down her sweatpants and sinks to her knees as she does so. “Maren,” Elsa sighs again, reaching down to cup her face when she presses a kiss to her stomach. Emboldened, Maren starts to move lower-

“Honey! Wait. This is the bathroom,” Elsa pants, just as she reaches the line of her underwear. Maren looks down to where her knees are indeed resting on tiled floor.

“...ah,” she says, smiling sheepishly. Laughing, Elsa tugs her up and out the door, towards a carpeted room and an empty bed to fill.

_Honey, she said_. And it’s true, Elsa could label her a toerag and she’d hardly care—but when Elsa calls out it out again in a voice laced with desire, she thinks anyway that this is one nickname she wouldn’t mind hearing quite often.

**…**

They do eventually get back to the hot pot.

Eventually.

Honeymaren makes a game of catching broccoli in her mouth, and ordinarily that might make Elsa nervous for her floor, but Maren is _really_ good at it. Also, Maren is wearing her leather jacket—but when she’d thrown the jacket on while searching for her top, Elsa had blushed hard enough to pass for a traffic light, so now Maren is wearing _only_ the jacket with her pants. Which means that all in all, she’s less concerned about a minor mess than she is about the zipper that is down to Maren’s navel but still not low enough.

“Catch.” Maren tosses a carrot piece toward her mouth, and despite Elsa’s best efforts, it bounces unceremoniously off the tip of her nose. She reaches to pick it up, and hears the other woman’s easy laugh. At her pout, Maren sticks out her tongue and winks, and her entire body heats up yet again at the memory of that tongue between her thighs. 

“So I don’t know about you,” Maren says, with a grin that says she very much _does_ know, “but I think we’re in a position to establish a promising pattern.”

“Do elaborate,” she prompts, even as she mirrors Maren’s movement of standing up.

“Oh, it’s quite simple,” Honeymaren assures her, snagging her by the waist. “Food,” she presses a kiss to Elsa’s collarbone, and her heart skips a beat. “Sex.” Another one, a little lower. “Food, sex.” 

“Very promising,” her reply comes out in a gasp—and already, her body sings out for Maren, as if she’s a violin awaiting her touch.

It’s not at all how she imagined this evening, when she dared to. She was going to look grand, present her date with an amazing meal, and share a kiss at the door. (Maybe more than one kiss at the door.) But she also never imagined the addictive way that Honeymaren listens to her, explores her body with such reverence, holds her so close that she can hardly tell where she ends and Maren begins. Really, everything about Maren has been unexpected from the start, from her kindness at their very first meeting.

So perhaps, she thinks, it's time to stop minding the unexpected; perhaps it's time to learn to love it.


	5. dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *darth vader theme song plays*  
> no seriously, this is quite a bit heavier. trigger warnings for homophobia and panic attacks

She was right.

It is the hazy hours of Maren’s rare Sunday morning off, when their bodies are intertwined and Maren talks sweetly and quietly in her ear about nothing at all. Elsa could lay there for hours (and has), resting her head on Maren’s shoulder and committing her face to memory. And to be quite honest, it is kind of her plan for today too—it’s a particularly good morning for it, the grayness of dawn making everything soft and peaceful. That is, until she jerks her attention away from Maren’s eyes to notice the small, thoughtful frown on her girlfriend’s face.

Maren eyes her for a bit longer, and suddenly throws back the sheets to roll out of bed. Elsa lets out a groan of protest, but Maren deftly extricates herself and her attempt to cling on only results in her hanging halfway off of the bed. 

“Honey,” she whines, and Maren chuckles, rooting around in the pockets of her discarded pants from last night.

“Just a sec, Els.” Even now, all these months later, the nickname smooths the edges of her mostly-faked irritation. “I would have done this last night, but you distracted me.”

“You let yourself be distracted,” Elsa retaliates, electing to pull the covers out of place so that she can stay where she is and watch Maren move around. (And Maren notices, judging by the small smile that flashes across her face, but she doesn’t comment. She always lets Elsa stare.)

“Oh no,” Maren shakes her head amusedly, moving her search to her jacket. “I’m not taking the blame for this. I’m only human, and reasonably vulnerable to temptation, and what you were wearing last night...” she flashes a wink in her direction, “would have had both Adam and Eve _flinging_ themselves out of the garden for you.” Before Elsa can respond, she lets out a noise of triumph. “Got it!”

Maren turns back to the bed and kneels down in front of her, trying and failing to suppress a laugh at Elsa’s now beet-red face. She leans forward to press a sideways kiss to Elsa’s lips, and already Elsa can feel the beginnings of desire stirring within her. “Wait,” she says, pulling away. “What’s your-”

“Ah, yes,” Maren grins, sweeping her hair behind her bare shoulder. “You distracted me again.” She cuts off Elsa’s objection with another swift kiss, and settles herself back on her heels. “Okay.” Maren takes a deep breath, and although she’s still grinning, Elsa can see the vulnerability in her eyes clear as day. She extracts a hand from the covers to trace her jaw, and with another deep breath Maren brings her hand out from behind her back to let it dangle between them.

Hanging on the end of her finger is a silver keychain, containing a snowflake charm and two keys.

Elsa stares at it and she can feel her heart stop and her throat close up and her eyes burn and she wants to say something, anything at all, but like so many other times before her voice fails her.

“I mean you don’t have to live _here_ ,” Maren says, catching the hand that’s frozen on her cheek. “You probably don’t want to share a home with Ryder, anyway,” she laughs nervously. “If you wanted then we could look for another place, but I just wanted to ask, and are those happy tears or...yeah? Okay-” And then Elsa gives up on speaking and pulls Maren into a kiss, trying to say everything she can’t put into words. Maren follows along willingly until she’s back on the bed, mostly on top of Elsa, and they’re both breathless and laughing.

“I love you,” Elsa says, and if the words don’t come easily yet they don’t feel like they’re being torn from her, either. And Maren’s face lights up just like it does every time she says it, as if Elsa has given her the greatest gift in the world.

“I love you, Els,” Maren murmurs into the crook of her neck. “So much.” She settles herself into Elsa’s side, and there's a moment of silence.

“So as great as your brother is, Mare…” Elsa starts, and Maren bursts into laughter. “Can we go hunting?”

“Hunting,” Maren confirms, and Elsa thinks this must all be too good to be true.

She was right.

**…**

Three weeks later, Maren thinks she’s found the place.

It’s been a little tough, to be sure. The city’s got a decent housing market, but they’re limited to places within thirty minutes of Northuldra, and trying to stay on the side closer to Elsa’s firm. On top of that, she’s only a month into being a fully-practicing surgeon, only a month into the pay raise that the title comes with, and she put it all back towards her loans anyway—so what she can afford and what Elsa can afford are pretty much night and day. Of course, Elsa had given her the keys to the brownstone in a silent offer, barely made eye contact as she muttered embarrassedly about how she _already owns it anyway_ and how Maren _deserves_ _the best I can give you_ , and while Maren found her attempt incredibly adorable, they both know that it’s an offer she won’t give in to so easily. 

But here it is, a furnished one-bedroom that’s nearly spitting distance from Northuldra and just a block from Elsa’s favorite coffee shop, sporting great landlord reviews and a price tag that doesn’t make Maren cringe at the sight of it. She tugs Elsa onto her lap and scrolls through the pictures, and the smile on her girlfriend’s face spurs her to book the first available appointment to visit. Her on-call shift starts half an hour after the tour starts, but the next viewing is another week away, and the place is so close to the hospital anyway that it shouldn't matter. 

“I’ve got a meeting until 5:30, so I’ll likely be a few minutes late,” Elsa warns her after she hangs up.

“Maybe I can charm the guy into a lower price before you arrive, then,” Maren teases, and Elsa snorts into her cup of tea.

**…**

Maren rings the buzzer at 6pm sharp, and practically bounds up the stairs. 

Elsa has texted to say that she’ll be there in about ten minutes, and Maren is secretly glad. She wants to ask if the piano at Elsa’s place can make the move with them. Elsa hasn’t said much, only that she was thinking about moving it into storage when she starts to rent out the brownstone, but Maren thinks there’s a corner of the living room that’s practically begging for a baby grand, if the landlord will allow it.

“Hello,” she says, not bothering to hide her enthusiasm as she reaches out for a handshake. “Maren Nattura.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” the man on the other side of the door says, returning her handshake. He’s got a slicked-back hairdo with impressive sideburns, and a charming smile at the ready. “Hans Westergaard, at your service.” He opens the door wider to allow her in, and as Maren gets a better look at his face she feels a faint ring of something familiar.

“Have we by any chance met before?” she asks as he leads her to the kitchen.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if we have,” he answers. “You know what they say: big city, small world.”

“You can say that again,” she laughs. “I work at Northuldra, so it feels like I must have seen half of the people here by now.”

“Northuldra, huh? You know that bike path along the east side?” Maren nods. Hans walks back to the living room and pulls up the blinds, revealing a small park a block away. “That’s the same one,” he points, ushering her closer so she can see. “Fifteen minutes biking at a decent clip would get you to the hospital. I’m just one floor down—directly below, actually—and I often take it on weekends.”

“That’s amazing,” Maren gushes. “Oh, by the way, my girlfriend plays the piano, and I wanted to ask before she gets here—would we be able to bring it with us? I suppose since you’re right below us, you’ll bear the brunt of the noise.”

“I don’t mind at all,” Hans says, and Maren thinks that they’ll get along just fine.

They return to the kitchen, which was apparently redone just two years ago, “gas stoves and everything,” and have just moved to the living room when Maren’s phone vibrates in her pocket.

“Hey, Honey,” Elsa says, once she picks up. “I think I'm being silly, but I can't find the entrance for the life of me.”

“I'll come down,” Maren tells her. “Just wait by the corner.” She motions to Hans, who nods in understanding, and goes out to meet Elsa. The apartment is a little smaller than the pictures suggested, but it strikes the perfect balance between modern and homey, and with every second Maren spends there she becomes more sure that it's where she's meant to be. As long as Elsa likes it too, that is.

Elsa is facing the opposite direction, and squeaks in surprise when Maren wraps her arms around her from behind. “Hey you,” Maren murmurs, placing a quick kiss to her cheek before letting go. Elsa turns to face her, and Maren notices the tiredness evident in her girlfriend’s expression. “Long day?” she asks, taking her hand and leading her to the building’s entrance.

“Kind of,” Elsa admits, squeezing her hand. “One of my projects got delayed. But I'll tell you about it later—how’s the apartment?”

“Well, I don't want to bias you,” Maren starts, but Elsa rolls her eyes at that. “I really, really like it,” she tells her quietly, as they stand outside the door. “I think you will too. And the landlord is actually a really cool guy, I kind of want to invite him to a game night some time.”

“Okay,” Elsa smiles more fully, and Maren knocks and pushes open the door. She hears a muffled “hey” from the bedroom at the back, so they walk toward it, and nearly collide with Hans as he appears in its doorframe. Maren is a little surprised, and lets out a small yelp of apology, but what she doesn't expect is the way that Elsa recoils so hard that their joined hands are wrenched apart. 

“What the fuck?” Elsa whispers, voice shaking. _She hardly ever swears,_ Maren thinks. When she glances over, Elsa is ten shades paler than normal, and her eyes are like ice.

“Elsa,” Hans says, kindly but a little uncertainly, it seems.

“Do you two know each-” Maren starts, but Elsa shushes her, keeping her eyes fixed on Hans. The action stings a little, but she tries to shake it off.

“How dare you,” Elsa says quietly. “After all that you've done-”

“I prefer to let the past stay in the past,” Hans interrupts.

“Why don't we ask my sister what she prefers, then!” Elsa shouts. Her girlfriend’s whole body is trembling now, and Maren stands there helplessly, feeling like she's holding two matching puzzle pieces and is too stupid to put them together.

“Well, if you want to bring it up for _Anna's_ sake…” Hans stands calmly, but his face has twisted into something ugly. “But you seem to have been quite selective in what you forgot.” The way he says Anna’s name clicks something into place, and Maren remembers her first shadowing, along with a certain graveyard intern shift.

_It wouldn’t be his first display of cruelty_ , Elsa had said.

She must make some sort of noise, because Elsa finally looks at her. “Maren, he’s-”

“The one who was there for her when you weren't,” Hans cuts her off, and Elsa visibly flinches. Maren is stunned into a standstill by his audacity. “When Agnarr and Iduna died, _you_ walked away.”

“Hey-” Maren starts, but Hans doesn't even acknowledge her, too focused on Elsa, who suddenly looks a whole lot smaller.

“You were _never_ there,” Hans sneers. “I used to hear your parents talk about you _so_ disappointedly, and look at you even now—an absolute disgrace to their memory.” He takes a step forward, and Elsa shrinks away. “Couldn't support Anna, couldn't handle the company, and despite your parent’s best efforts you couldn't stop yourself from being a fucking _dyke_ -”

He stops abruptly, and it's only then that Maren realizes she has him pinned against the wall, elbow to his neck.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he wheezes. “Don't want to lose that medical license now.” Maren feels the weight of the threat, and eases up slightly. “Besides,” Hans adds venomously, “there's no point in a show without an audience.” 

Maren turns around, rage giving way to fear. Elsa is gone. 

**…**

She stumbles down the stairs, gasping and feeling like every breath is a noose squeezing tighter. The world spins, and she falls to her knees, barely even aware of the passersby staring.

_Breathe,_ she thinks, desperately trying to find an anchor within herself, _just breathe..._

Someone is speaking to her. She tries to listen, but the words sound like they're coming through a bubble. Hands grip her shoulders to pull her to her feet, and she jerks away, the contact feeling invasive and _wrong_ , wrong like _her_ -

“Elsa! Please, Els,” a voice says, and when she looks up to meet a pair of warm brown eyes the world swims back into focus. “I'm gonna take you home, alright?” Maren tells her reassuringly, but the word _home_ just breaks her apart again. _Despite your parents’ best efforts…_

“No,” she says, wildly. “Let go, Maren.” She takes a step back, and hurt flashes in Maren’s eyes, and it's all so _wrong_ she doesn't know what to do, and loses track of her breathing again.

“Elsa, you can't-” Maren starts, but her phone starts to chime, and they both know what the ringtone means. “You've gotta be fucking kidding me,” Maren growls, and whips out her phone to answer. She takes Elsa’s hand again and guides her to the car, unlocking it. Elsa gets in numbly, her vision narrowing to the door handle, and a pair of trembling white hands. _My_ hands, she thinks, as she watches the nails bite into skin.

“Kristoff,” Maren is saying now. “How soon can you get here? Elsa is…she's not okay, Hans was here, but now I'm getting called in and–yeah, 2nd and 10th, she'll be in the car. Okay, I can wait for a few minutes, but I have to go soon, it's a bad one, mother _fucker_ it's just–okay, _thank you_ ,” and then there's silence.

“Elsa,” Maren murmurs, in the softest tone she's ever heard.

“ _Don’t,_ ” she chokes out. “All you've done is make it worse.” She doesn't hear a response, when the roaring in her ears subsides again she realizes that Maren isn't there anymore.

**…**

It's a car accident, and Maren deals with the collapsed lung with a feeling of being an award-winning actress, making up lines that just happen to match the script she's forgotten. She listens to the chatter of her team as she works and even chimes in occasionally, and when she steps back to let the junior resident stitch the woman back up she realizes that it's one of the faster times she's performed this operation. _Maybe I should make this a regular thing_ , she thinks dully, and fights back tears for what feels like the millionth time.

Elsa has had panic attacks before, and in the months they've been together Maren has witnessed a few of them. Usually the best she can do is to be an anchor and hold her tight, and talk about anything and everything that comes to mind until her girlfriend is no longer so rigid in her arms. 

But this time, it was like Elsa wanted nothing to do with her, and even though she knows there's a reason it doesn’t stop the ache throbbing in her chest. She practically sprints out to her car as soon as she can, and has Kristoff on the other end of the line before she's even out of the parking lot. “How is she?” Maren says immediately.

“She's recovered, but something is off, Ithink. Anna is with her now in the guest bedroom, and it seems like she's going to stay the night.” As always, Kristoff doesn't mince words, and Maren’s especially grateful for it now. 

“Can I come see her?” Maren asks.

“I'll check,” Kristoff answers, and she can hear his footsteps, and then a knock at the door as he repeats her question.

Anna’s voice echoes at the other end of the line next, loudly enough that Maren winces and turns down the volume. “Maren! What happened? Elsa seems fine, but she wouldn't say anything at first except to apologize to me. Kristoff said that…Hans…” she trails off.

“We went to go see a house together, and Hans was the landlord,” Maren says. Anna inhales sharply. “He said...God, Anna, it was awful. He knew exactly what to say. He knew things _I_ didn’t even know.”

“Shit,” is all Anna says.

“Do you think she’ll let me see her?” Maren asks, the question sounding desperate even to her own ears. Distantly, she hears Anna relaying it, but can’t make out the response.

“That was a no,” Anna sighs, the urgency in her voice replaced by something hollow. “You can try coming over, but if he said what I think he did, about her being…”

“Gay?” she fills in.

“Yeah,” Anna says. “I think it might be better to let her come to you, sort herself out a bit.” She sounds uncertain, though, and Maren can’t stop herself.

“What exactly did she say, Anna?” She'd thought that once Elsa got over the shock and the panic, they'd be alright. But now doubt and fear are clawing their way to the surface of her mind. 

Anna sighs again. “Maren…”

“Anna.”

“She said she’ll see you when you come to move out your things, okay?” Anna rushes out, and Maren’s heart stutters to a stop. “But Maren, you know she doesn’t mean it. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know.” Maren can hear the catch in her voice, and she knows Anna can too. “Thanks, Anna,” she says, intending to hang up.

“I’m sorry, Maren,” Anna murmurs, tears evident in her tone, and it’s then that Maren starts crying. 

“Me too,” she says, and drives the rest of the way to the brownstone in silence.

**…**

_9:25_ | Maren: _Please don't shut me out._

 _9:29_ | Elsa: _When you can't get in somewhere, it usually means you're not welcome._

**…**

Elsa wakes up at some godless hour, feeling tired and empty and restless all at once.

Anna is snoring soundly next to her, spread out in a position that makes Elsa wonder at the flexibility of her neck. One of her arms is draped over Elsa’s back, and she carefully lays it on the bed as she stands up and stretches, padding softly out of the room. She walks into the kitchen and sits on the cold tile with her back to the fridge, listening to its hum.

Hans’ words are less sharp under the cover of night, but the accusations still echo around her head. Not because he said them—not because she cares for the opinion of a vile, pathetic man—but because they’re true. No matter that Anna and Maren and her therapist and even she herself normally choose to believe otherwise, there’s a part of her that knows better. Her parents gave her everything, and ultimately she gave them nothing in return.

So how can she pretend to be right or enough for Maren? Anna and her are tied by blood, but Maren’s disappointment at least is something she doesn't have to bear.

It’s this thought that sticks with her, and she sits on the floor thinking it as the room darkens all the way to pitch black, and fades back to gray.

**…**

Her phone buzzes from its place on the kitchen table.

 _11:34_ | Maren <3: _I’m waiting at your place, but if you want me out then just say the word._

 _3:47_ | Maren <3: _I love you_

_What is she waiting for?_ Elsa wonders. _An apology?_ Then she reads the second text again, and feels the answer shake her like an earthquake.

_Where are my keys?_

**…**

She bounds up the stairs to her bedroom as quickly as she dares, and isn’t ready for the sharp pang that hits her when it’s empty. _She gave up, already._ And Elsa knows she probably isn't worth all this trouble, anyway, but she had hoped that Maren would feel differently. But now this pang builds inside her until she thinks she might cry, and suddenly she can’t bear to be in her own room, or even her own house. 

But then at the bottom of the stairs she catches sight of a bundle of blankets on the couch, and if a tear or two does escape now it’s from relief.

Maren is curled up as much as the width of the couch will allow, one hand cradling her phone. Her eyes are puffy, and her hair unbraided, and she startles awake as soon as Elsa touches her. “Elsa,” she breathes, voice raw from sleep and tears.

“What do you want from me?” Elsa demands. She hadn’t meant for it to come out so forcefully, she thinks, as Maren flinches a bit.

“I–I don’t know,” Maren replies, confused. She sits up a little more, trying to push her hair out of her eyes. “You have a really nice cast-iron, I guess? I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Elsa pushes, and maybe she isn’t making much sense but she wants to hear Maren say it on her own.

“I don’t, Els, I don't want anything,” Maren says frustratedly. “Why are you–oh.” Understanding dawns on her face, and Elsa wants to kiss her for it.

“What do you want from me?” she repeats instead, and even in the dark she can see Maren’s smile.

“I want your love,” Maren answers. “Your love, and as much time as you’re willing to give me.” 

_She was waiting for me. Just me._ Elsa smiles back, and asks her last question. “Will you come to bed?”

**…**

She lingers in the space between awake and asleep, dozing in and out under a blue-eyed gaze.

When she finally opens her own eyes, Elsa is curled around her, nose pressed into her shoulder. “Hey,” she mutters, voice thick and hazy.

Elsa props herself up on one elbow to look at her fully. “Hey,” Elsa says back, and in the muted morning gray she looks so ethereal that Maren could swear she's still dreaming. They stare at each other for a moment, and then another. “Can I say something?”

“ ‘Course,” Maren tells her. “If I can get a cup of-” Elsa points to her nightstand, and sitting right there is a fresh cup of “-tea first,” she finishes. “Thank God for you.” She sits up properly to grab the mug, and swears she can _feel_ the caffeine flooding her veins with each sip. (She doesn't always need it, but last night was particularly sleepless.)

“I thought a lot of things yesterday,” Elsa says finally, long after Maren has set down her cup to listen. “Most of them were wrong.” She takes a loop of Maren’s hair and twirls it around her finger.

Maren stays silent. The more important things, she has learned, take time for Elsa to pry out of herself. 

“Hans was right.” Maren bristles at that, but Elsa lays a hand on her chest to silence her. “He was right about what my parents thought of me. I was never a good enough sister or a good enough heir or a g-good enough daughter.” She focuses on Maren’s hair for another moment, then looks directly into her eyes. Maren’s breath hitches at the pain swirling in their depths. 

“I realized I was gay when I was nineteen,” Elsa says. “I told my father when I was twenty, two months into my senior year of college, and as you might have guessed, he did not take it well.” She laughs hollowly, and a shadow passes over her face. Maren uselessly grips the hand that’s braced against her chest.

“Funnily enough, he didn't care because of personal reasons or anything. He would've been fine if it was Anna. But a CEO who was LGBT just wasn't acceptable.” Elsa pauses again, and Maren waits her out. “So he was going to enroll me in some summer program to, uh, straighten me out. He died that winter, and eventually Anna convinced me to enroll in regular therapy instead.”

“And I thought I got over it,” Elsa continues, “especially because his disapproval was so tied to my being a CEO, and now I'm not. But Hans was right, and it got to me. And at first, when I was panicking, I pushed you away because of their memory. But then I kept pushing you away, and it was because of the memory of their expectations.” 

Still Maren doesn't speak, although at this point she doesn't know if she can. Her whole family had accepted her right away, and until now she had no idea that her girlfriend was any different, none at _all-_

“I forgot who you were,” Elsa blurts out, the words pouring forth like a jar of water tipped on its side. “I looked at everyone, but most of all you, and I saw expectations that I couldn't meet and rules that I couldn't follow and I'm _sorry_ , Mare, I'm sorry because all you want from me is something that I can always give-” She trails off into a strangled sob, and then they're holding onto each other so tightly Maren can hardly breathe.

“I love you,” Elsa chokes out, the words muffled against her body. “I love you, I love you, and if you want me to then I'll give you every second I have for the rest of my life. Please don't give up on me. I love you.”

Maren hardly knows how to separate the emotions within her, but one rises to the surface, easily floating above the rest. “I love you too,” she whispers, and Elsa pulls away just enough to kiss her fiercely in response.

This isn't over, Maren knows. She's got to figure out how to make Hans pay for the impunity with which he ruined the Winters’ lives. And there's a lot to unpack in what Elsa has said, more thoughts to think and things to say. Hell, she's got to find another apartment because she had blinders on for this one. 

But all that mess, it can wait. For now, she's going to enjoy the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah, definitely a darker tone than i've tried before, i hope you guys liked it (please comment and tell me how i did! even if you wanna insult me it means the world that you bothered at all)
> 
> with this awful pandemic going on i suppose i will have enough time to keep writing, so let me know as well if you'd like anything else from this AU
> 
> stay safe guys, much love


	6. step by step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elsa is (not) getting her shit together, one step at a time  
> also she gardens, and that is a Fact, change my mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, this is my last chapter for this fic, barring some crazy stroke of inspiration  
> thanks for all the love, it's made this so much fun
> 
> (and let me know if you'd be interested in the development of the story i trailered at the bottom! could always use a collaborator too ;) )

“H-hello?”

“Anna, it's me.”

“Elsa? Are you okay?!”

“What? Yes, I'm fine.”

“Can this wait, then? What's the time?”

“It's 6:30, Anna-”

“Six fucking thirty! Elsa, it's a Saturday, what the hell! I am going back to-”

“Listen to me! I wanted to tell you before Maren wakes up.”

“Tell me what?”

“You know how you asked last night if you could give the rest of Mom’s jewelry to Rapunzel?”

“Yeah, I don't want to sell it or anything-”

“Keep her ring.”

“Wait, what?”

“Keep her ring.”

“Oh my GOD ELSA ARE YOU GOING TO-”

At the abrupt change in volume, Elsa startles, and fumbles her phone. The action of it hitting the ground has the threefold effect of 1) ending that _disaster_ of a call, 2) cracking her screen protector into an absolute spiderweb whilst miraculously leaving her screen unscathed, and 3) abruptly waking up her girlfriend, who is already sporting a bit of a hangover from Olaf’s birthday party last night.

Elsa sighs.

 _Step one: get a ring. Check_.

...

Maren is wonderful, considerate and funny and gorgeous—and Elsa loves her. She also loves that Maren is smart and thoughtful and observant, but as the days go by she starts to see some downsides to these latter qualities.

Namely, that any sort of secret, any sort of surprise, is extremely difficult to pull off.

“What are you up to?” Maren says, flopping gracelessly onto the end of the bed. 

“Hi, Honey. Nothing much,” she responds, hastily closing her tab of “marriage proposal styles” search results. Maren raises an eyebrow, already skeptical, and Elsa makes a mental note to never cheat on Maren. After a moment of reflection, she wonders why she even considered that as a possibility, and deletes the note from her mind.

“Nothing much, huh?” Maren says, squirming her way up to where Elsa is sitting. She’s just back from work, still buzzing with energy, and Elsa can’t help but nuzzle slightly closer, just wanting to be in Maren’s orbit. 

She turns her laptop slightly toward Maren, and shows her the Home Depot page floating on her screen. “Thinking about getting some peonys this year,” she dismisses, snapping the computer shut so she can lean forward to meet Maren’s lips, and thankfully Maren presses deeper into it, seeming to forget about the issue altogether.

Clearly, this isn’t a secret she can keep for long at this rate. But as Maren peels her nightshirt over her head, she decides that she doesn’t mind doing the job of distraction for it. At all.

...

The thing is, it’s always been Maren who knows just what to do and when, Maren who has taken the initiative in steering their relationship through the course they wanted it to go. She was the one to get Elsa’s number, to ask her to move in. Honestly, she even made the first move fifteen years ago with that stale Kit-Kat. And she seems to do it effortlessly—alphabetizing her books into Elsa’s existing collection, picking Elsa’s favorite shade of blue to reupholster the sofa she brought. Maren made every single integration of their lives seem so natural that once it was done, Elsa could hardly remember living any other way.

And really, nothing is going to _change_ when they get married. Ring on her finger or not, she’ll be waking Maren up every weekday morning, going on date nights every other Saturday, getting carried to bed when she falls asleep over a book. So even more than she wants this proposal to be grand or romantic or anything else, she wants it to be natural, like breathing out after breathing in. 

Maren shifts in her sleep, tangling their legs into the pretzel she always wakes up to. Elsa looks at the time and winces—she’s been awake for almost an hour. But she shuts her eyes, and resumes sifting through the million tiny moments in their day-to-day lives, looking for the one that’s just right.

...

Something is off with Elsa.

Maren thinks now that it might’ve taken her too long to notice it. In the first days and weeks after she moved into the brownstone, she had kept watch for an indication that Elsa had changed her mind and decided that she preferred the peace and quiet of a home to herself, or that Maren was really just a leech after all. 

(Never mind that they had both somewhat lost their taste for house-hunting after the Hans Episode, and that Elsa had actually sat her down with her mind-boggling tax filing numbers and explained as earnestly as she could that she wouldn’t even notice if Maren didn’t pay her “rent,” and that Maren could buy all the groceries if she really wanted to, and how it was actually better if Maren could pay off her student loans to avoid the accumulating interest because later, when their finances were combined-

Elsa had stopped talking then, and they had both blushed hard enough to pass for fire hydrants, and then stared at each other for _just_ a bit too long.)

In any case, Maren had become a tad less vigilant over the year that they’d been living together, and clearly she’d been slipping, because something was _definitely absolutely off_ about her girlfriend. And it had taken her nearly a week to pick up on it—but ever since, Maren’s made it a point to be as curious and chatty and prying as she can possibly be without arousing suspicion. 

The first sign was how easily Elsa startled. Yes, Maren has a habit of walking a bit too quietly (stalking, Ryder calls it), but now Elsa jumps and shuts off her phone if Maren so much as leans toward her. Next came the mysterious shopping trips, which happened twice last week and only resulted in a plain t-shirt she could have gotten online. And a few days ago, as Elsa was talking with their neighbors Mulan and Belle, they all fell completely silent when Maren approached them. 

To be clear, Maren isn’t paranoid or even worried for her own sake, because Elsa doesn’t have a deceitful bone in her gorgeous body. But she figures that, as much fun as it’s been putting Elsa on edge, she should _probably_ clear the air before her girlfriend has a heart attack.

“Hey,” Maren says, sitting up on the sofa and pulling her feet from Elsa’s lap. “Do you want to hear a fun fact?”

“Uh, sure,” Elsa answers. And to her girlfriend’s credit, she’s getting better at hiding, because when Maren moves to her side, she only sees a faint trace of panic on Elsa’s face as she quickly closes a window on her laptop screen.

“Did you know,” Maren begins, unable to keep the smirk out of her voice. Elsa eyes her suspiciously, but lets her go on. “Did you know that when you press 'Ctrl Shift T,' it opens up the last tab that you closed?”

“Oh, really?!” Elsa squeaks, trying her best to conceal her terror and doing a very poor job of it.

“Yeah. Here, wait, let me show you-” Maren reaches toward her keyboard.

“No!” Elsa yelps, jerking it away. Then her fear morphs into confusion as Maren starts laughing.

“Oh my God,” Maren wheezes, unable to catch her breath.

“You knew!” Elsa suddenly springs from the sofa, a righteous anger burning in her dark blue eyes. “You knew I was hiding something this whole time, didn't you? And you just pretended to be _oblivious?!_ You little-” She sets her laptop carefully on the coffee table, and launches herself at Maren.

“Oof,” Maren gasps, as her girlfriend’s elbow sinks into her stomach. For someone as slight as she is, Elsa pins her remarkably quickly, straddling her and forcing her arms down to her sides. “It was funny, Els,” she tries, still grinning, and Elsa’s mouth falls open in outrage.

“How much do you know?” she demands.

“Nothing,” Maren tells her, and receives an unconvinced look. “Nothing!” she insists, and Elsa is mollified enough to allow Maren’s hands to float up to her waist. “I just knew that you’ve been hiding something, but I didn’t snoop. I trust you,” she says earnestly, and Elsa’s eyes soften.

“Well, I’ll thank you to stop your fake prying immediately,” Elsa declares, but her glare belies the way that she cups Maren’s cheek and grinds down on her ever so slightly. Maren stifles a groan in response.

“By the way, Mare, how long have you known?” Elsa murmurs, trailing kisses up from the neckline of her shirt.

“Mmm, three weeks,” Maren mumbles unthinkingly against her lips, moving to undo the button on Elsa’s jeans. But she gets a pillow to the face instead of the kiss she’s expecting, and Elsa’s comforting weight has left her hips in a flurry of action.

“Three weeks!” Elsa mutters from the kitchen, clattering the dishes together fiercely as she washes them. “Three weeks she lets me go on like this…”

Maren pushes the pillow off her face and smiles. “I love you, babe,” she calls out, and swears she hears it grumbled back in response.

...

“You could do it for her birthday,” Anna suggests, wearily. “It’s only a month away.”

“That feels weird,” Elsa frowns back. “Hey Maren, I know we’re already in a long term relationship, but the thing I got you for your birthday is me, which you already have. And also jewelry, which you don’t normally wear on your hands.” 

Anna huffs back at her, looking at her list of ideas that have been crossed out, rewritten, and crossed out again. “You know what? I think you should just hold on to it.”

“What?” Elsa asks. “You mean not propose?”

“No, you goof,” Anna rolls her eyes and lays down on the bed, leaving her feet to hang off the edge. Her shirt rides up a little, and Elsa pokes at the sliver of bare skin instinctively just to hear her shriek.

“You might need to look into maternity clothes, sis,” she teases.

“Ugh, you’re right,” Anna groans. “I made it twenty weeks, though, it’s pretty considerate of him to let me wear my normal clothes for this long.” Elsa nods in agreement, and leans back to lie shoulder-to-shoulder with her sister.

“As I was saying,” Anna resumes, jabbing her in the shoulder playfully. “I think you should keep it on you for the next couple weeks, or as long as it takes I guess, and just give it to her when the time feels right.” She closes her eyes, as if to emphasize the finality of her advice,

Elsa sighs reluctantly. “That’s what I’ve been thinking too. I suppose I’m just so used to having a plan for things. But you know,” she says with a flash of insight, “I never planned for Maren, either. Maybe it's overly poetic, but maybe this is how it’s meant to be.” A thoughtful silence hangs in the air, as if the entire universe has stopped for a moment to recognize the truth of her statement. 

From beside her, Anna lets out a snore.

“Anna!” she exclaims, jostling her sister awake. Anna’s eyes snap open, and she wipes off the telltale line of drool that has already formed on the corner of her mouth.

“Sorry,” she grins sheepishly. “Baby Bjorgman here likes to kick me awake in the middle of the night. What were you saying?”

Elsa shoots a narrow look at her sister, and realizes that despite the bags under her eyes, she really is sort of glowing. Not from the pregnancy (she's never noticed a pregnancy “glow,” to be honest), but from real contentment. _We get to have this family for the rest of our lives_ , she thinks, and feels her exasperation evaporate on the wind. “Nothing. I’m okay. I’m ready.”

“Good!” Anna beams, and heaves herself out of the bed, tugging Elsa along. “You’re all set then. You’ve got a girl, a ring that fits, consent of the guardian, and a good headspace, and really that’s all you nee–Elsa?” She turns around in the hallway to look at Elsa, whose feet have stopped working half a sentence ago.

“Oh shit,” Elsa whispers.

...

She sits on her sofa, legs crossed and back straight, and tries not to panic.

“Relax, Elsa,” she instructs herself, as a ringing noise fills the room. “You love Maren, and Maren loves you. Okay.”

She clasps her hands together and gulps as a single beady eye fills her entire computer screen, and eventually resolves into the face of a stern, gray-haired woman. “Elsa,” the woman says matter-of-factly.

Elsa swallows again, and imagines settling her (rather rusty) mask of a CEO back into place. “Yelena,” she says smoothly. “It’s nice to see you again. I hope you’re-”

“What?” Yelena says. “You’re going to have to speak up a bit.”

“Uh...it’s really nice to see you again,” Elsa reiterates, more forcefully. “I-”

“Pardon?” Yelena interrupts again. “I can’t hear a _word_ you’re—oh, hang on.” She leans closer suddenly, nearly squashing a wrinkled cheek against the camera, and moves back into position. “Didn’t have the blasted volume on,” she says irritably. “Go on, then.”

“It’s nice to see you,” Elsa repeats. “I hope-”

“Skip the formalities, my dear,” Yelena waves her off, and Elsa’s carefully rehearsed speech grinds to a halt. “Tell me why you’ve called.”

Elsa grits her teeth for a moment, and tries again. “W-well, Maren and I have been living together for over a year.” 

“In that house of yours, correct?” Yelena asks. Elsa nods. “And you’re how old?”

“I’m, ah, twenty-eight,” she replies, and plasters on her polite interviewing smile. _Just answer the questions, she has to make sure you’re right for Maren before she approves you._

“Twenty-eight and a homeowner in urban America,” Yelena sniffs, and Elsa can’t tell if her tone is mocking or not. “What is it that you do, again?”

“I’m an architect.”

“You bought a house, and you’re allowing my niece to live there with you, and you’re doing that on an architect’s salary?” Yelena arches a pale eyebrow.

“Actually, n-no, I used to run a company, Arendelle Industries? You may have heard of it,” Elsa fumbles, and immediately winces at how snobbish she sounds.

“I have not,” Yelena frowns, and Elsa decides to throw down her shovel before she can dig herself any deeper into this hole. She takes a deep breath, and looks directly into the camera.

“Yelena, I love your niece very much, and I’d like to ask for her hand in marriage-”

“What? I didn’t catch that,” Yelena says, and Elsa just barely restrains herself from yanking her hair out of her head; as it is, the tiniest scream escapes her closed lips. 

Yelena suddenly laughs, and Elsa nearly falls off her seat in surprise. “I’m joking, my dear, I heard you loud and clear. Here’s a question for you: why are you telling me about your love? You don’t want to marry me as well, do you?” 

“Uh, no, uh...” Elsa blushes, flounders, and gives up any hope of appearing even vaguely put together. “I thought it was...ah...traditional? To ask you, since you raised Maren, I guess.”

“That I did, although you’re not to blame me when she turns your hair gray in five years.” Yelena gestures to her own head of salt-and-pepper hair. “But I suppose your hair is already so pale...perhaps that’s why you’re so well-suited.” She smiles briefly, and even through the grainy video, Elsa can see the good-natured shrewdness in her expression that Maren has always talked about. 

“Anyway, Elsa, you’re a young lesbian millionaire, and it's the twenty-first century. I wouldn’t bank on tradition if I were you. Do let me know when you’ve set a date for the wedding.” Yelena nods once, and her screen goes black.

Elsa sits dumbly, still clutching her laptop, and tries to process everything that just happened.

“Step…something,” she says faintly. “Guardian consent. Check.”

...

“Olaf,” Maren warns, and the man in question glances up innocently, as if he hasn't just been caught refilling her girlfriend’s glass for what Maren’s guessing is at least the second time.

“Maren!” he beams back. Maren looks at him, then at the glass, and Olaf nods matter-of-factly. He leans toward her, behind Elsa’s back, to whisper conspiratorially, “My theory was right.”

“Your theory?” Maren asks, but they're interrupted as Elsa throws herself back with an exclamation.

“Show me the lumber, Anna!” she practically sings, and Anna groans loudly.

“Elsa, you can't keep pulling that move-”

“Funny, I didn't realize _strategy_ was illegal-” Elsa leans forward again to continue bickering, and Olaf takes the opportunity to resume their conversation.

“I told Elsa last game night that she could win if she just stopped overthinking everything, and that she should just have a couple more drinks this time, and she agreed that I was probably right.” Olaf nods towards the board, where Elsa is indeed dominating the playing field, and shrugs in satisfaction.

“Huh,” Maren says, as Olaf takes his turn to roll. She decides not to interfere, since Elsa is still very much in control of how much she's drinking, and Olaf is merely giving her easier access. 

(Maren herself also _may_ have been beaten quite badly by Anna in the last round.)

“It's even more one-sided than it looks,” Olaf murmurs to her afterwards, “because I've been helping Bruno a lot, and he's got four right now.”Maren raises an eyebrow in surprise. To be fair, Olaf’s boyfriend is mediocre at most games, with the very notable exception of poker, but still.

“Longest road!” Elsa crows in triumph, electing to flick her piece at Anna’s face instead of placing it on the board. “That puts me at, hmm, eleven? How many do I need to win again?”

“Oh, give me a-”

Maren doesn't hear the rest of Anna’s complaint, because Elsa seizes her face and kisses her deeply, not even stopping at Ryder's wolf-whistle. Her girlfriend grins breathlessly at her when she pulls away, face flushed from the victory and the alcohol. “I think Olaf was right.” In the corner of her eye, Maren sees Anna turn to Olaf accusingly.

Maren feels a smile tugging at her own lips, and says. “Yeah, I think so too.” Elsa swipes Maren’s drink out of her hand to finish it, kisses her again, and stands up unsteadily to finish gloating at Anna. 

...

They play another game afterwards, though Maren would have been hard-pressed to recall even the name of it if someone were to ask. Elsa had opted to sit out of this one and sit behind Maren instead, chin resting on her shoulder. The way their bodies are pressed together is distracting enough, but Elsa’s hands have absolutely no restraint, winding their way around Maren’s chest and venturing dangerously toward her thighs on more than one occasion. No one seems to notice anything, but by the time they finish, Maren has shifted her whole weight backward, trapping Elsa’s body between the sofa and her own in an attempt to keep her sanity.

“Okay, I'm beat,” Kristoff admits, scooping up the stack of boxes in one of his huge hands, and the other five follow suit. As everyone says their goodbyes, Ryder tosses her an exaggerated wink, which Maren returns with a confused expression. He winks again, and Maren crosses the room to talk to him under the pretext of a hug.

“What are you on about, you idiot?” she mutters into his ear.

Ryder ruffles her hair in response, and she thumps his shoulder half-heartedly. “Nothing,” he says, although the smile on his face looks rather thoughtful. “Just happy for you.”

“Thanks?” Maren tries, but he's already out the door. She shuts and locks it, and turns around to see Elsa leaning haphazardly against the banister. “Elsa,” she sighs fondly.

“Mmmaren,” Elsa answers, and from the way she stretches out the word it's clear that she's properly drunk. Maren snorts. In a surprisingly fluid motion, Elsa swings toward her, wrapping her arms around Maren’s neck. “Take me to bed,” she whispers, and Maren obligingly bends down to hook an arm underneath her legs and sweep her up. It's a slow journey, because Elsa’s blood alcohol content seems to have no impact on her kissing abilities, and Maren nearly drops her twice before they finally make it into the bedroom. 

Elsa is someone who strives to be self-possessed, a remnant from her time as a CEO. Maren can probably count the number of times that she’s seen her girlfriend even tipsy. But tonight is that rare occasion, and under her fingers Elsa is an open book like she’s never seen before. Her mouth forms a tiny ‘O’ when Maren curls her hand just right, and she doesn't make her usual effort to stay quiet as she shakes with pleasure beneath her. Maren loses her own breath, pride and something more filling her as Elsa arches her back and cries out her name.

"Honey,” Elsa gasps, as Maren tugs off the last of her own clothes to lay beside her. “Honey, I love you.” She says it almost pleadingly, like she's afraid Maren won't believe her.

“I love you too,” Maren says, meeting her wide-eyed gaze with her calmer one. And Elsa relaxes, allowing Maren to wrap her arms around her.

Her next words are slightly slurred, but unmistakable nevertheless. “You will marry me, won't you?”

Maren inhales sharply and tightens her hold around the woman in her arms. “Of course I will, Els,” she says levelly, heart pounding. _And all this time she'd thought Elsa wasn't ready…_

“Promise?” Elsa asks, childishly, and Maren laughs to herself.

“Yeah, I promise,” she answers.

“Okay,” Elsa turns onto her side, so that they're facing each other. “I'm glad,” she mumbles, bringing a hand up to Maren’s face. “I don't think I could love anyone else like this, y’know?” Maren nods back, not trusting herself to speak without laughing or crying.

“Not to mention,” Elsa continues almost inaudibly, as her hand slides down to rest between them, “I would’ve resized that ring for nothing…” Her eyes flutter closed, and Maren’s left to draw the covers over them both, and try to tame her whirlwind of thoughts long enough to sleep.

...

Elsa wakes up the morning after to an awful headache, the scent of fresh strong coffee, and a kiss.

...

It's a Thursday evening, and it's time.

She could tell when she woke up, the determination resounding through her bones, an acceptance settling over her like a fine mesh net. Even her garden seemed to know, as the first of her roses started to bloom. So she took extra care dressing that morning, putting on eyeshadow and the blue V-neck halter that Maren loves. 

Now she's watching a show on television and not hearing a word of it. She’d tried reading, gardening, even catching up on some work, but her attempts had been so scatterbrained that she’d had to rule out cooking for dinner, knowing _something_ would burn. Even though she knows this is the right move, even though she wants to make it, anxiety rolls in like the tide burying her feet under the sand, and she pulls out her phone to text the person she knows will understand.

 _7:55_ | Elsa: _I think I'm going to propose tonight._

Her phone vibrates almost immediately with a response, and she’s so very grateful for her family.

 _7:55_ | Kristoff: _I’m glad. Question of when and not if in my mind._

 _7:56_ | Elsa: _Were you nervous for yours? I don't even know what I’ll say when the time comes._

 _7:56_ | Kristoff: _You remember my proposal attempt, right?_

Elsa laughs despite herself. Kristoff had tried to propose on the top of Ahtohallan slopes with a huge, heart-shaped snow sculpture. Anna had completely missed it the first time, gotten annoyed with him for wanting to do the same trail twice, and left him to do a different one with Elsa, who fractured her wrist on that very run. 

_7:57_ | Kristoff: _You're asking her to spend the rest of her life with you, and she's going to say yes. Even if you mess this moment up really badly (which you won't), the yes means that you’re going to have a lifetime of other moments to remember._

 _7:57_ | Kristoff: _Don't drive yourself crazy. Just do what feels right._

 _7:58_ | Elsa: _Okay. Thank you_ _:)_

 _7:57_ | Kristoff: _Good luck!_

She resumes the show, and resumes not paying attention, but this time it's anticipation taking over her brain.

...

About half an episode later, the door swings open. “Hey, Els, I’m home,” Maren greets tiredly. She's come from a boxing session, wearing a tank top that shows off every inch of her arms, and even in the nerve-ridden state she's in Elsa feels a shiver run down her spine.

“Hey, Honey,” she answers, wandering over to the closet, where Maren is tugging off her sneakers. She can't tear her eyes away from Maren’s arms, still faintly shiny with sweat, and Maren tugs her closer to plant a kiss on her lips.

“I think one of my favorite parts of boxing now is the way that you look at me afterwards,” Maren laughs. “Nice shirt, by the way.” Elsa offers a grin as her girlfriend gives her an intense once-over, before she slings her bag back over her shoulder to head upstairs. Minutes later, Elsa hears the shower start to run, and sighs. Right now she's rather in the mood to join her, but…

Kristoff’s words resurface in her mind. _Just do what feels right_. 

After a quick trip outside, and a quadruple check on the tiny circular bulge in her pocket, she hurries upstairs after Maren.

**...**

The single easiest way to deduce her actual wealth is to look at her bathroom.

Elsa would admit it herself, she’d splurged a bit, and had it redone two years ago. Anna complained that the upgrade had happened after she’d moved out—but then Elsa showed her the final product, and her sister had admitted that if the sequence of events were reversed, she might never have left at all.

She always was glad that she’d spent the money, because she absolutely adored taking long, hot showers. And then Maren had moved in and Elsa’s gratefulness to her past self went up by a factor of a million, because wouldn’t you know, her lovely amazing shower was big enough for two.

Now, Elsa thanks every star in the sky for her unwitting foresight as she opens the door. It doesn’t even creak, and she slips silently past it to-

“Couldn’t stay away, huh?” Maren’s translucent outline calls out, and Elsa shrieks in surprise.

“You weren’t even _looking_ in this direction!” she huffs, and Maren’s laugh is muffled by her own curtain of hair as she bends forward to wash it out. 

For once in her life, Elsa times herself perfectly, and when Maren turns around she is already in place: standing where the water hits at her knees, and both hands tucked behind her back. She allows herself a moment to glance over Maren’s body, toned and _perfect,_ and when she brings her eyes back up to her girlfriend’s she blushes at the hunger in her gaze. But that’s not what she wants (at least not yet), so she takes one step forward to kiss Maren lightly and brings one hand up to thread into Maren’s hair before she pulls away. Maren reaches her own hand up, and her eyes widen when her fingers find a rose tucked between the wet strands. Elsa takes another moment to stare at her again, and this time thinks of all that Maren is, and all Maren is to _her_ , and tries to hold it in her mind as she begins.

“If you didn’t know,” Elsa says, “I put up a lot of walls between me and the rest of the world.” Maren laughs a little bit, but mostly looks confused. “There are a lot of walls,” she continues, “and they’re really high, and I didn’t think anyone would get past unless I let them, and even then I’d only let them climb over one at a time.”

“Then you came along, and it was like you snapped your fingers and suddenly there were gates, and you just walked all the way through.” The confusion in Maren’s eyes shifts to wonder, and Elsa feels naked for the first time since she’d stepped in. _I guess this is when you kneel,_ she thinks, and Maren gasps out loud when her knee hits the tile. Elsa stares at Maren’s knees, too terrified to look up, and pushes onward.

“Thank you, Maren,” she says, and tries to stop her voice from trembling, without success. “Thank you for coming into my life all those crazy coincidental times, and thank you for staying. I hope–I want you to stay forever.” She gets a good grip on the ring, offers it up, and forces her eyes up to Maren’s again. Her girlfriend is crying, tears mingling with the water dripping from her hair, and Elsa feels light, lighter than air. “Will you marry me?” she asks, _finally_ , and Maren pulls her immediately to a stand so she can seal their lips together. Elsa laughs against her mouth, wondering at all those late nights when she dared to doubt the answer.

“Yes,” Maren breathes when they part, holding her so tightly it almost hurts. Elsa pries one hand off of her waist so she can slip the ring on, the small sapphire glinting on Maren’s finger, and Maren stares at it dumbly, mouth opening and closing without words.

“Don’t worry, I got you a necklace for it, as well,” Elsa adds, and Maren’s eyes snap back to hers. There’s pure joy in them, a mirror of exactly what Elsa’s feeling, and a smile so wide it hurts stretches over her face.

“Oh my God,” Maren laughs. “Oh my God, Elsa Winters, _I love you_.”

And when Maren picks her up to twirl her around, well, her shower is big enough for that too.

**...**

“The shower?!” Ryder repeats, grinning. “You’re so damn weird, Elsa.”

“Hey, don’t insult my fiancée like that!” Maren says indignantly, squeezing Elsa’s hand. Her other hand is occupied with the chain around her neck; she can’t stop touching it, and chanting to herself that _it’s real, it’s real._

“I mean, it’s clever,” Anna remarks, with a wink in her direction. “You’re already naked, saves you some trouble afterwards.” Beside her, Kristoff chokes on his drink.

“Anna,” Elsa sighs, as her sister thumps Kristoff on the back. 

"All of you," Ryder points at them in twos. "Absolutely bonkers, and perfect for each other."

“Well, he's half right,” Maren whispers into Elsa's ear. Elsa smiles openly, easily, and squeezes her hand back.

  
  


***up next (maybe)***

_“Well, what about you?” Elsa fires back. “What about this case you're working on, trying to sue the Spirits? Was I supposed to find out that you hated superheroes enough to ruin their lives through a newspaper article?”_

_“They're vigilantes, Elsa, and what the hell do they have to do with our relationship?”_


End file.
